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University of California Berkeley 

Regional Oral History Office University of California 

The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California 

University History Series 
Department of History at Berkeley 

Carl E. Schorske 


With Introductions by 
James J. Sheehan 

Reginald E. Zelnik 

Interviews Conducted by 

Ann Lage 
in 1996 and 1997 

Copyright O 2000 by The Regents of the University of California 

Since 195A the Regional Oral History Office has been interviewing leading 
participants in or well-placed witnesses to major events in the development of 
Northern California, the West, and the Nation. Oral history is a method of 
collecting historical information through tape-recorded interviews between a 
narrator with firsthand knowledge of historically significant events and a well- 
informed interviewer, with the goal of preserving substantive additions to the 
historical record. The tape recording is transcribed, lightly edited for 
continuity and clarity, and reviewed by the interviewee. The corrected 
manuscript is indexed, bound with photographs and illustrative materials, and 
placed in The Bancroft Library at the University of California, Berkeley, and in 
other research collections for scholarly use. Because it is primary material, 
oral history is not intended to present the final, verified, or complete 
narrative of events. It is a spoken account, offered by the interviewee in 
response to questioning, and as such it is reflective, partisan, deeply involved, 
and irreplaceable. 


All uses of this manuscript are covered by a legal agreement 
between The Regents of the University of California and Carl E. 
Schorske dated October 10, 1999. The manuscript is thereby made 
available for research purposes. All literary rights in the 
manuscript, including the right to publish, are reserved to The 
Bancroft Library of the University of California, Berkeley. No part 
of the manuscript may be quoted for publication without the written 
permission of the Director of The Bancroft Library of the University 
of California, Berkeley. 

Requests for permission to quote for publication should be 
addressed to the Regional Oral History Office, 486 Library, 
University of California, Berkeley 9A720, and should include 
identification of the specific passages to be quoted, anticipated 
use of the passages, and identification of the user. The legal 
agreement with Carl E. Schorske require that he be notified of the 
request and allowed thirty days in which to respond. 

It is recommended that this oral history be cited as follows: 

Carl E. Schorske, "Intellectual Life, 
Civil Libertarian Issues, and the Student 
Movement at the University of California, 
Berkeley, 1960-1969," an oral history 
conducted in 1996 and 1997 by Ann Lage, 
Regional Oral History Office, The Bancroft 
Library, University of California, 
Berkeley, 2000. 

Copy no. 

Carl Schorske, 1989. 

Photo by Jerry Bauer. 

Cataloguing information 

SCHORSKE, Carl E. (b. 1915) Professor of History 

Intellectual Life, Civil Libertarian Issues, and the Student Movement at 
the University of California, Berkeley, 1960-1969, 2000, xvi, 203 pp. 

From Wesleyan University to the Department of History at Berkeley, 1960; 
thoughts on Catholics and Jews in academia; faculty life and politics on 
campus and in the history department: the Arts Club, Joseph Kerman, Thomas 
Kuhn, Carl Bridenbaugh, Raymond Sontag; chairing the history department, 
1962-1963: free speech issues re SLATE and communist speakers on campus; 
reflections on the Free Speech Movement, 1964-1965, and faculty response; 
assistant chancellor for educational development under Roger Heyns, 
1965-1966, campus efforts at educational reform; anti-war and third-world 
movements on campus; leaving Berkeley for Princeton, 1969; Schorske s 
teaching and writings on European intellectual history. 

Introductions by James J. Sheehan, professor of history, Stanford 
University, and Reginald E. Zelnik, professor of history, UC 

Interviewed 1996, 1997 by Ann Lage for the Department of History at 
Berkeley Series, Regional Oral History Office, The Bancroft Library, 
University of California, Berkeley. 


The Bancroft Library, on behalf of future researchers, 

wishes to thank the following persons and organizations 

whose contributions have made possible the oral histories in 

the Department of History at Berkeley series. 

Department of History, University of California, Berkeley 

with funds from the 

Sidney Hellman Ehrman Professorship of European History 
A.F. and May T. Morrison Professorship of History 

Jane K. Sather Chair in History 
Abraham D. Shepard Chair in History 

and the following individuals: 

Carroll Brentano 

Delmer M. Brown 

Gene A. Brucker 

Randolph and Frances Starn 

In Memory of Ursula Griswold Blngham: 

Dana T. Bartholomew 

James Tyler Patterson, Jr. 

John S. Service 

TABLE OF CONTENTS- -Carl E. Schorske 



INTRODUCTION by James J. Sheehan iv 

INTRODUCTION by Reginald E. Zelnik vii 



The View from Wesleyan of the Loyalty Oath Controversy 1 
Lecturing at Berkeley, 1959: The Excitement of the Public 

University 3 
Settling In: Social Connections, and Thoughts on Catholicism and 

Academia 5 
Entering the Intellectual Life of the Campus: The Arts Club and 

Other Interdisciplinary Connections 8 

The Postwar Generation s Interest in Intellectual History 10 
Intradepartmental Politics: Thomas Kuhn, Carl Bridenbaugh, 

Raymond Sontag 11 

A Vocational Mission and a Humanistic View of History 14 

Involvement in Civil Libertarian Issues 17 
Political Tolerance within the History Department, the Nature 

of the Discipline 18 

Appointed Chair of the Department, 1962 24 
Organizing a Historians Petition on the Bay of Pigs 25 
Protesting University Policies on Slate and the Use of the 

University Name 26 
Sponsoring an Off -Campus Colloquium with Herbert Aptheker, 

March 1963 28 
Moderating the Appearance of Mickey Lima, First American 

Communist to Speak on Campus, July 1963 31 
Thoughts on the University in Society, and Instability and 

Intellectual Creativity 33 

Shifting Political Spectrums in the Sixties 37 

Free Speech Movement --Some Recollections 38 

The Emergency Executive Committee: Selection and Role 38 

Interpreting the University to Alumni and Regents 43 

Resentments toward Clark Kerr 44 

Beyond Free Speech: Filthy Speech, Sexual Liberation, Anti-War, 

Third World, and Women s Movements 47 

Liberating the Educational Imagination 50 



Some Departing Faculty: Landes, Rosovsky, and Kuhn 55 

Thorough, Comparative Searches for New Faculty in History 58 

George Stocking, Robert Paxton, Werner Angress 59 

Promoting to Tenure from within the Department 63 

Considerations in Hiring a Historian 66 
Women Faculty and Grad Students, and an Aside on Raymond Sontag 69 
Religious and Cultural Diversity and Prejudices, in Society and 

on Campus 73 

Social Diversity at Berkeley in the Sixties 78 

Thomas Kuhn: A Historian and Philosopher of Science 79 

Maintaining Freedom of Thought in a Public University 86 
Opposing Centralization: The Byrne Report 87 
Press Treatment of FSM 91 
A Memorable Meeting with FSM Leaders 95 
Teaching and the Intellectual Atmosphere during FSM 96 

Charles Muscatine and the Commission on Educational Reform 100 
Cultural Side Issues to the Free Speech "Revolution" 103 
Personal Response to Cultural Changes of the Sixties 106 
A Range of Responses to a Revolutionary Situation: Heyns , 

Meyerson, Searle, and the "Yellow Submarine" 109 

Efforts to Improve Faculty-Student Dialogue 112 

Considering Corresponding Changes in Catholicism 118 

Rethinking and Adapting Academic Traditions 121 

Media Representations of Berkeley Teaching: "Berkeley Rebels" 123 

Architectural Re-formation 125 

Legacies of the Sixties: Institutional and Intellectual 127 

Responding to the Postwar Shift to Formalism 127 

Difficulty of Constructing the Grand Narrative: Fin-de- 

slecJe Vienna 130 

Leaving Berkeley for Princeton, 1969 133 



A Carl E. Schorske, A Life of Learning. Charles Homer 

Haskins Lecture, Apr. 23, 1987; American Council of 

Learned Societies, ACSL Occasional Paper No. 1 139 
B Memorandum to President Kerr and Chancellor Strong on 

the suspension of SLATE, August 23, 1961 151 

C Letter re use of the university s name, June 11, 1962 154 
D Letter re History Colloquium with Herbert Aptheker, 

March 13, 1963 156 
E Letters re the appearance of Albert Lima on campus 

in July 1963 159 
F "Professional Ethics and Public Crisis: A Historian s 

Reflections," by Carl E. Schorske, March 1968 166 

G List of nominees to Emergency Executive Committee, 

December 8, 1964 172 

H Proposal for graduate program in cultural history, 

December 1965 175 

I Carl E. Schorske, Curriculum Vitae 181 

INDEX 187 



The Department of History at Berkeley oral history series grew out 
of Gene Brucker s (Professor of History, 1954-1991) 1995 Faculty 
Research Lecture on "History at Berkeley." In developing his lecture on 
the transformations in the UC Berkeley Department of History in the 
latter half of the twentieth century, Brucker, whose tenure as professor 
of history from 1954 to 1991 spanned most of this period, realized how 
much of the story was undocumented. 

Discussion with Carroll Brentano (M.A. History, 1951, Ph.D. 
History, 1967), coordinator of the University History Project at the 
Center for Studies in Higher Education, history department faculty wife, 
and a former graduate student in history, reinforced his perception that 
a great deal of the history of the University and its academic culture 
was not preserved for future generations. The Department of History, 
where one might expect to find an abiding interest in preserving a 
historical record, had discarded years of departmental files, and only a 
fraction of history faculty members had placed their personal papers in 
the Bancroft Library. 1 

Moreover, many of the most interesting aspects of the historythe 
life experiences, cultural context, and personal perceptionswere only 
infrequently committed to paper. 2 They existed for the most part in the 
memories of the participants. 

Carroll Brentano knew of the longtime work of the Regional Oral 
History Office (ROHO) in recording and preserving the memories of 
participants in the history of California and the West and the special 
interest of ROHO in the history of the University. She and Gene Brucker 
then undertook to involve Ann Lage, a ROHO interviewer /editor who had 
conducted a number of oral histories in the University History Series 
and was herself a product of Berkeley s history department (B.A. 1963, 
M.A. 1965). In the course of a series of mutually enjoyable luncheon 

The Bancroft Library holds papers from history professors Walton 
Bean, Woodbridge Bingham, Herbert Bolton, Woodrow Borah, George 
Guttridge, John Hicks, Joseph Levenson, Henry May, William Alfred 
Morris, Frederic Paxson, Herbert Priestley, Engel Sluiter, Raymond 

2 Two published memoirs recall the Berkeley history department: John 
D. Hicks, My Life with History (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 
1968) recalls his years as professor and dean, 1942-1957; Henry F. May 
reflects on his years as an undergraduate at Berkeley in the thirties in 
Coming to Terms (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987). 


meetings, the project to document the history of the Department of 
History at Berkeley evolved. 

In initial discussions about the parameters of the project, during 
which the varied and interesting lives of the history faculty were 
considered, a crucial decision was made. Rather than conduct a larger 
set of short oral histories focussed on topics limited to departmental 
history, we determined to work with selected members of the department 
to conduct more lengthy biographical memoirs. We would record relevant 
personal background- -family, education, career choices, marriage and 
children, travel and avocations; discuss other institutional 
affiliations; explore the process of creating their historical works; 
obtain reflections on their retirement years. A central topic for each 
would be, of course, the Department of History at Berkeley its 
governance, the informal and formal relationships among colleagues, the 
connections with the broader campus, and curriculum and teaching at both 
the graduate and undergraduate level. 

Using the Brucker lecture as a point of departure, it was decided 
to begin to document the group of professors who came to the department 
in the immediate postwar years, the 1950s, and the early 1960s. Now 
retired, the younger ones somewhat prematurely because of a university 
retirement incentive offer in the early nineties, this group was the one 
whose distinguished teaching and publications initially earned the 
Department of History its high national rating. They made the crucial 
hiring and promotion decisions that cemented the department s strength 
and expanded and adapted the curriculum to meet new academic interests. 

At the same time, they participated in campus governing bodies as 
the university dealt with central social, political, and cultural issues 
of our times, including challenges to civil liberties and academic 
freedom, the response to tumultuous student protests over free speech, 
civil rights and the Vietnam War, and the demands for equality of 
opportunity for women and minorities. And they benefitted from the 
postwar years of demographic and economic growth in California 
accompanied for the most part through the 1980s with expanding budgets 
for higher education. Clearly, comprehensive oral histories discussing 
the lives and work of this group of professors would produce narratives 
of interest to researchers studying the developments in the discipline 
of history, higher education in the modern research university, and 
postwar California, as well as the institutional history of the 
University of California. 

Carroll Brentano and Gene Brucker committed themselves to 
facilitate the funding of the oral history project, as well as to enlist 
the interest of potential memoirists in participating in the process. 
Many members of the department responded with interest, joined the 
periodic lunch confabs, offered advice in planning, and helped find 
funding to support the project. In the spring of 1996, the interest of 


the department in its own history led to an afternoon symposium, 
organized by Brentano and Professor of History Sheldon Rothblatt and 
titled "Play It Again, Sam." There, Gene Brucker restaged his Faculty 
Research Lecture. Professor Henry F. May responded with his own 
perceptions of events, followed by comments on the Brucker and May 
theses from other history faculty, all videotaped for posterity and the 
Bancroft Library. 1 

Meanwhile, the oral history project got underway with interviews 
with Delmer Brown, professor of Japanese history; Nicholas Riasanovsky, 
Russian ana European intellectual history; and Kenneth Stampp, American 
history. A previously conducted oral history with Woodrow Borah, Latin 
American history, was uncovered and placed in The Bancroft Library. An 
oral history with Carl Schorske, European intellectual history, is in 
process at the time of this writing, and more are in the works. The 
selection of memoirists for the project is determined not only by the 
high regard in which they are held by their colleagues, because that 
would surely overwhelm us with candidates, but also by their willingness 
to commit the substantial amount of time and thought to the oral history 
process. Age, availability of funding, and some attention to a balance 
in historical specialties also play a role in the selection order. 

The enthusiastic response of early readers has reaffirmed for the 
organizers of this project that departmental histories and personal 
memoirs are essential to the unraveling of some knotty puzzles: What 
kind of a place is this University of California, Berkeley, to which we 
have committed much of our lives? What is this academic culture in 
which we are enmeshed? And what is this enterprise History, in which we 
all engage? As one of the project instigators reflected, "Knowing what 
was is essential; and as historians we know the value of sources, even 
if they are ourselves." The beginnings are here in these oral 
histories . 

Carroll Brentano, Coordinator 

University History Project 

Center for Studies in Higher Education 

Gene Brucker 

Shepard Professor of History Emeritus 

Ann Lage, Principal Editor 
May 1999 Regional Oral History Office 

The Brucker lecture and May response, with an afterword by David 
Hollinger, are published in History at Berkeley: A Dialog in Three Parts 
(Chapters in the History of the University of California, Number Seven), 
Carroll Brentano and Sheldon Rothblatt, editors [Center for Studies in 
Higher Education and Institute of Governmental Studies, University of 
California, Berkeley, 1998]. 


March 2000 

University History Series, Department of History at Berkeley 

Series List 

Brown, Delmer M. Professor of Japanese History, University of California, 
Berkeley, 1946-1977. 2000, 500 pp. 

May, Henry F. Professor of American Intellectual History, University of 
California, Berkeley, 1952-1980. 1999, 218 pp. 

Riasanovsky, Nicholas V. Professor of Russian and European Intellectual 
History, University of California, Berkeley, 1957-1997. 1998, 310 pp. 

Schorske, Carl E. Intellectual Life, Civil Libertarian Issues, and the 
Student Movement at the University of California, Berkeley, 1960-1969. 
2000, 203 pp. 

Stampp, Kenneth M. Historian of Slavery, the Civil War, and Reconstruction, 
University of California, Berkeley, 1946-1983. 1998, 310 pp. 

In process: 

Bouwsma, William J., professor of European cultural history 

Smith, Thomas C., professor of Japanese history 

INTRODUCTION by James J. Sheehan 

Among the few lectures notes that have survived from my many years 
of formal education are six tattered pages with the dates, Wednesday, 
October 7 and Friday, October 9, 1959. The course was Raymond J. 
Sontag s "Intellectual History of Europe," the place, Room 155, Dwinelle 
Hall, the subject, Hegel, and the lecturer, Carl E. Schorske, who had 
been invited to fill in while Ray Sontag was out of town. Together with 
the other graduate student assistants in the course, I had awaited 
Schorske s appearance with interest and anticipation. Of course, we did 
not know that this would mark the beginning of his association with 
Berkeley and, for some of us, of four decades of friendshipbut we had 
heard a good deal about him. He was supposed to be a brilliant teacher, 
his book on Social Democracy was required reading for every serious 
student of German history, and we had heard rumors that he had turned 
down offers from both Berkeley and Harvard in order to stay at Wesleyan, 
decisions that seemed, to me at least, somewhat noble and very 

Even without the aid of my notes, I have a vivid recollection of 
Carl s two lectures on Hegel, which displayed his characteristic blend 
of rhetorical power and intellectual energy. Without losing sight of 
the text at hand (Hegel s lectures on the philosophy of history), he 
established connections between Hegel and his historical setting, 
explained the cultural traditions within which he worked, and then 
suggested the implications of his ideas for the evolution of German 
thought. But what made these two lectures and the many others I heard 
after Carl began teaching at Berkeley so memorable was not simply 
Carl s command of the material and his verbal brilliance, but also his 
ability to invite his listeners to join him in a common enterprise and 
thus to transform them from his audience into his companions on a shared 
intellectual journey. There was always a certain openness and 
spontaneity in Schorske s lectures; rather than present a finished 
product they illustrated an ongoing inquiry. This was, I think, the 
most important source of the excitement with which his lecture room was 
always charged. 

As a graduate teacher, Carl had the same ability to inform, 
engage, and inspire, and always to do so without arrogance or 
intimidation. I remember our first conversation about my ideas if that 
is what my random inclinations and inchoate ambitions can be calledfor 
a dissertation. Rather than suggesting possible topics or simply 
assigning me something to work on, Carl told me about the books he had 
recently read that seemed to suggest new and interesting ways of 
thinking about intellectual history: Kaegi s biography of Burckhardt, 
Gollwitzer s book on the Standesherren. and a few others. Clearly I was 
not going to be able to write such books (in fact, at that point I was 


barely able to read them) , but he offered them to me as sources of 
stimulation and inspiration, models towards which to strive. This made 
me feel like a colleague, with whom he could share his current 
enthusiasms, and not like a pupil in need of direction. As my own 
research plans began to form, then collapsed, and finally jelled, he was 
always attentive, sometimes criticalbut never intrusive, overbearing, 
or discouraging. He was, moreover, extremely diligent in the quotidian 
dimensions of the graduate teacher s responsibilitieswriting letters 
of recommendation, returning draft chapters, and the like the 
difficulties of which I now understand and appreciate much better than I 
did at the time. 

When Carl came to Berkeley, his scholarly reputation rested on his 
book about German Social Democracy, which sought to explain the party s 
split in 1917 in terms of deeply-rooted structural and ideological 
divisions within the labor movement. Although I am now somewhat 
skeptical about the book s central argument (it seems to me that the 
immediate impact of the war played a more important role in the party s 
divisions than Carl s structural analysis would suggest), it is still 
one of the books I most like to read with my graduate students. It is, 
in the first place, a beautifully conceived and powerfully sustained 
historical analysis, clearly written, elegantly researched, and filled 
with well-chosen examples. Moreover- -and this is always the sign of 
first-rate history it tells us about much more than its ostensible 
subject: in this case, about the political and social problems of the 
German Empire, the interaction of ideology and organization, and last 
but not least the political climate in which the book itself was 
written. Although after this book, Carl moved away from political 
history, politics always remained central to his scholarly vocation, 
which was indelibly marked by the two central crises of his generation: 
the rise of National Socialism in the thirties, which shadowed his years 
as an undergraduate as well as his wartime service with the OSS, and the 
emergence of the Cold War in the forties and early fifties, which shaped 
his own relationship to American politics. 

By the time Carl arrived in Berkeley, he had already begun to work 
on culture in Vienna around the turn of the century. I recall hearing 
him describe this project to a packed audience of faculty and students 
in the Alumni House; parts of it appeared in his course on European 
Intellectual History, which I audited in 1960-61. For a variety of 
reasons- -not least among them Carl s engagement with the events that are 
described in what follows the book he planned to write was never 
written in the narrative form he had originally intended. Instead, he 
produced a series of essays that were eventually published in 1980 as 
Fin-de-Siecle Vienna, a book that has been widely and deeply influential 
across the usual disciplinary boundaries. The connecting themes uniting 
these essays are the collapse of Austrian liberalism and the rise of 
cultural modernism, which worked together to generate an unresolved 
tension between political pathology and cultural creativity. In Fin-de- 


Siecle Vienna, and in the many essays that he has written since (some 
now collected as Thinking with History [Princeton University Press, 
1998]), Carl Schorske has illuminated the complex connections between 
politics and culture, his major concern as a scholar and, for the years 
that he was at Berkeley, the object of his efforts as an academic 
citizen caught up in the affairs of a great university in crisis. 

James J. Sheehan 
Professor of History 

November 1999 
Stanford, California 


INTRODUCTION by Reginald E. Zelnik 

Carl Schorske and Berkeley s Time of Troubles 

We read in Jim Sheehan s illuminating introduction to Carl 
Schorske s oral history that politics always remained central to 
Schorske s "scholarly vocation"; and at the end of the essay Jim refers 
to Carl as "an academic citizen caught up in the affairs of a great 
university in crisis." I was present at Berkeley for the last five 
years of Carl s involvement as an "academic citizen," and I write, in 
part, to bear witness to the power and integrity of his political, 
intellectual and moral presence, which represented the very best that 
our faculty had to offer in that time of troubles. Other than at the 
most abstract analytical level, it would surely be a mistake to think of 
politics and scholarship as two distinct domains in which Carl would or 
could function in a bifurcated manner. In real lifereal political 
life and, to Carl, real scholarly life as wellthe two arenas were 
always intermeshed and intermingled. There were major conflicts between 
them, to be sure, yet never in the prosaic sense that one was somehow 
debasing or corrupting the integrity of the other. Here at Berkeley, 
politics taken in the broadest meaning of dedication to the well-being 
of the polis and promotion of the just use of power remained central to 
Carl s scholarly vocation, to both his research and his teaching, while 
intellectual values were no less central to his political concerns. He 
saw the university as a community where politics and scholarship not 
only could coexist, but could strengthen one another, though never 
without the presence of powerful and often unresolved tensions. When in 
1969 he departed Berkeley for calmer waters if not greener pastures, I 
believe that though troubled by the experience of the previous years, he 
had not abandoned his guarded faith in the contentious but ultimately 
peaceful coexistence of these two worlds. 

As readers will learn from the oral history that follows, Carl 
joined our history faculty in the fall of 1960, having been attracted to 
the university while lecturing here in 1959 in Raymond Sontag s class, 
as noted in Jim s introduction. It should come as no surprise that very 
little time had passed before Carl began to involve himself in campus 
controversies. His left political background, after all, dated back to 
the rich and lively undergraduate political life at Columbia University 
in the early 1930s, but also, with a backward stretch, to 1919, his 
kindergarten year in New York, when this little son of a socialist 
banker had a near escape from "campus discipline" for singing a German 
song, Morgenrot. that offended the anti-German sensitivities of a 
patriotic kindergarten teacher. An active supporter of the 
controversial Henry Wallace campaign in 1948, and still an independent 
man of the liberal left in the sixties, Carl came to Berkeley at a time 
when the seeds of the 1964 conflict around free speech were already 
being planted by an unwitting combination of vestigial but still 


forceful McCarthyism, which often targeted the university, and a growing 
movement of protest and resistance among a resolute minority of faculty 
and students. Administrators, for their part, groped for intricate and 
often perplexing ways to resist recurrent onslaughts from the right, 
tacking now in the direction of significant resistance, now in the 
direction of outright surrender, at times even surrendering with 
pleasure . 

The most salient form such conflicts tookthough more quietly, 
more subdued, more civilly, and on a much smaller scale than what soon 
would followwas faculty resistance to the banning of controversial 
speakers from the campus. "Controversial" at the time was generally 
equated with "Communist," though the term also extended to religious 
speakers (the banning of Malcolm X neatly combined both cases). In such 
situations, as Carl explains, it was facultysmall groups, to be sure- 
more than students who took the lead in resisting suppressive measures, 
though faculty methods were characteristically unf lamboyant, 
superficially unconfrontational, and always imbued with academic 

Carl had barely been on our faculty a year, for example, before he 
joined a little group of civil libertarian professors signif icantly, 
four of the eight participants would be active in the faculty "200" 
during the free speech crisis of 1964 who wrote to President Kerr and 
Chancellor Strong in 1961 to protest the suspension of SLATE, an 
activist student organization. Anticipating some of the issues that 
rocked the campus three years layer, Schorske and the others asserted 
that "the interpretation of the State Constitution as restricting 
student political activity is questionable and should receive further 
study." At the same time, again anticipating Schorske s disposition in 
1964 and beyond, always characterized by a quest for cooperation, 
reasonableness and workable solutions, the letter generously 
acknowledged the "liberalizing measures" recently instituted by the 
university administration and its (partial) defense of the open forum 
from outside pressures. The concluding paragraph nicely illustrates the 
mood of faculty such as Carl who, anxious to encourage positive change, 
animated in a sense by "civilizing mission," often found themselves face 
to face with administrators who did not always share their outlook. "We 
have no wish to magnify disagreements," Carl and the others wrote. "As 
faculty members, we try to make ourselves available to the problems of 
students, and we hope that a dialogue with you, from time to time, will 
be welcomed as creative and enlightening." 1 

A year later Carl was writing to the Academic Senate s Academic 
Freedom Committee in support of a faculty resolution taking issue with a 

1 V. Kennedy, L. Lowenthal, C. Schorske et al. to Kerr and Strong, 
23 Aug. 1961, Bancroft Collection (see Appendix B). 

university policy that prohibited faculty from citing their university 
affiliation when taking positions on non-university issues. 2 Shortly 
thereafter, in 1963, now in his new capacity as history department 
chairman, Carl was again in the midst of his soon-to-be uninterrupted 
campus engagement, as he led the department s unsuccessful efforts to 
allow the historian Herbert Aptheker, a leading member of the Communist 
party, to speak on campus under the auspices of its graduate colloquium 
series. (The event did take place, but in the YMCA s Stiles Hall, off 
campus, with members of the department taking up a collection for the 
speaker s fee!). 3 Then, in a related case again involving the 
appearance at a public gathering by another Communist speaker, Schorske 
took upon himself the burden of presiding over the meeting, an action 
that predictably led to angry letters from right-wing protesters while 
earning him the praise of the chancellor and the president (both of whom 
apparently expected some kind of disturbance that never materialized). 
In all these cases it was some combination of academic freedom, civil 
liberties and free speech that was at issue, principles that were always 
at the very top of Schorske s list. As he put it in a letter to the 
general secretary of the University YMCA, "the unfavorable returns 
[about his chairing of the meeting] are coming in; but no one interested 
in civil liberties can escape this sort of thing... (T]he price is 
pretty small considering what is at stake." 4 

The crisis Carl was faced with in the fall of 1964, while again 
revolving around issues of free speech and, more remotely, academic 
freedom, were of a scale that dwarfed the episodes just described, and, 
in sharp contrast, involved for the first time a mass student movement, 
the Free Speech Movement [FSM] . It would have gone completely against 
his grain for Carl to avoid engagement in this conflict. He plunged 
into it quickly enough, and of course had little trouble identifying 
with the causes of free speech and advocacy rights for students, their 
right to due process, fair disciplinary procedures, and, an often 
ignored but very serious consideration, respectful treatment. He viewed 
with growing dismay the heavy-handedness of administration policy, which 
radicalized the movement and turned a local conflict into one of 
statewide and ultimately national proportions. But at the same time, 
like so many other members of the faculty, including even most of those 
who shared his sympathy for the movement s aims, he was also disturbed 
by the prospect that the already burgeoning politicization of university 

2 Schorske to Chairman of Committee on Academic Freedom, 11 June 

1962, loc. cit. 

3 Schorske to Chairman of Committee on Academic Freedom, 13 Mar. 

1963, loc. cit. (see Appendix D) . The total ban on Communist speakers 
on campus was lifted the following summer. 

Schorske to W.J. Davis, 31 July 1963, loc. cit. (see Appendix E). 
The speaker this time was Albert Lima. 


life and this was even before the "Vietnamization" of our campus --would 
have a negative effect on our academic milieu. Delighting in our 
students desire to act like citizens, he believed in principle that 
this citizenship could be reconciled with academic decorum. He 
therefore spent much time and energy in quest of a solution to the free 
speech conflict that would speedily reduce the turmoil while upholding 
the values that underlay the struggle of the FSM. He welcomed the 
sound, but hoped perhaps for less of the fury. He was, as he once 
described himself in explaining his approach to history, "at once wary 

Much of Carl s efforts during the FSM took place at meetings with 
like-minded faculty (several of them signers of the 1961 letter 
mentioned above) in Professor Charles Sellers history department 
office. As a new, very junior member of the history faculty, I had of 
course met "Professor Schorske" several times by then, and already knew 
and admired his superb study of German Social Democracy; I actually 
first knew of him, and already admired him in 1961, when, as a Stanford 
graduate student, I saw an ad on the Bay of Pigs crisis that he and 
other history professors, mainly from Berkeley and Stanford, had placed 
in the Times. But it was at these little "strategy meetings" in 
Sellers office that I really got to know Carl, to see him in action, to 
observe his craftsmanship and draftsmanship in helping to hammer out 
appropriate language for larger faculty meetings that we hoped would 
meet the principles of the FSM and still be acceptable to a large enough 
faculty majority to sway the administration, appealing to its better 
self. In fact, as I am sure Carl would acknowledge, none of the 
dedicated work of that little group achieved its purpose, at least not 
directly. The (Larry) Levine motiona futile but honorable attempt in 
November to move the faculty senate in the direction of the FSM 
positionand other comparable endeavors would fail to win over a 
faculty majority until a combination of patently vengeful disciplinary 
action by the then chancellor and a bold new act of civil disobedience 
by the FSM transfigured the atmosphere and created the climate for the 
assertiveness of the faculty 200 and finally for the stunning victory 
for free speech that took place in the Academic Senate on December 8. 

It is impossible, in my view, to designate a single author of the 
December 8 resolutions, which in some ways went significantly further 
than earlier draft resolutions prepared by faculty supporters of free 

5 Carl E. Schorske, A Life of Learning (ACLS Occasional Paper No. 
1, 1987), p. 3. That paper provides a useful supplement to the present 
oral history (see Appendix A). It is reprinted in Thinking with 
History: Explorations in the Passage to Modernism (Princeton, 1998), pp. 


speech. At one level the true authors of the resolutions were Mario 
Savio and other FSM-ers, who had long since laid out the basic 
principles that those resolutions followed. But the resolutions were 
also a permutation over time of language created at the meetings in 
Sellers office, at November meetings of the Academic Senate, at the 
meeting of the 200 itself, and at the huge informal December 3 gathering 
of faculty in Wheeler Auditorium called by panicky faculty who had not 
been strong supporters of the FSM, but were now prepared to heed the 
views of the Schorskes, Stampps, Schachmans, Smiths, Sellers, Searles, 
Selznicks, Wolins, Lowenthals, and Levines, to name but a few. While it 
would take an archeologist to reveal all the layers of authorship-- 
broadly conceived they of course antedated the FSM itself, drawing upon 
a much longer history of campus battles for academic freedom and civil 
libertiesno one involved in this affair could deny that the hand and 
mind of Carl Schorske was a presence at virtually every stage of this 
evolving story. 

Although the Regents official response to the December 8 
resolutions fell short of a straightforward endorsement, and although 
there were to be on occasion temporary retreats from the robust 
enforcement of the resolutions, it is fair to say that a genuine victory 
for free speech principles had indeed been achieved through the combined 
efforts of an aggressive student movement and a faltering but ultimately 
responsive faculty. Yet one of the ironic, unforeseen (and, I certainly 
felt at the time, disheartening) consequences of the December 8 
resolutions was the election of a faculty committee, the "Emergency 
Executive Committee," which, though its purpose was to secure the 
acceptance of the resolutions by the president and Board of Regents, 
consisted almost entirely of faculty members who, though moderates by 
most standards, prior to the December turnaround had to varying degrees 
been hostile to the FSM and, more to the point, impatient with its 
faculty friends. To this outcome there was only one exception, Carl, 
who came in seventh in the field of seven elected members of that 
committee, the sole representative of the 200 to survive a well 
organized faculty backlash that swept the elections under the banner of 
order and stability. If the election results reveal a great deal about 
the complex blend of motives that went into the voting on December 8, 
Carl s (bare) survival as the sole representative of what I still refer 
to as "our group" (and, not incidentally, as the sole representative of 
the liberal arts) was certainly a tribute to the great respect for him 

6 Strictly speaking the resolutions were the work of the Senate s 
Academic Freedom Committee, which formally introduced them at the 
December 8 meeting. But while I have no doubt that they were vetted and 
edited by that committee, it is equally clear that the committee was 
sticking very closely to a version of the text that emerged after much 
heated debate from the December 3 meeting at Wheeler Auditorium. 


that prevailed even in sectors of the faculty whose views he did not 

As it turned out, Carl was able to cooperate effectively with the 
other members of the committee, which to a great extent did accomplish 
its primary goal, winning the Regents (guarded) acquiescence to most of 
the December 8 package. Yet the spring of 1965 marked the beginning of 
several years of unrelenting tension and intermittent anguish for him, 
as he was prevented by his very nature from resisting the continuous 
call of duty, placing him in pivotal positions, constantly serving the 
campus community, always on call, and at times, as he puts it here, 
"eaten up." He even joined the administration as special officer in 
charge of academic development for a brief period, but, as his interview 
reveals, he grew increasingly uncomfortable with what he saw as the 
rigid policies of the Roger Heyns administration. More and more Carl s 
engagement and commitment tore him away from the scholarship (though 
never from the teaching and teaching innovation) that he so adored. In 
his own words (though he refers here to his time as a graduate student 
at Harvard, not his time at Berkeley): "When political passions run 
strong, the relation between one s obligations to the republic of 
letters and to the civic republic can become dangerously conflated." 
In academic year 1968-69 escalating war and, as a consequence, more ugly 
and bitter campus confrontations added to these tensions and temporarily 
destroyed the "delicate balance" that had seemed to prevail after 
December 8. 8 Carl then made his decision, without a trace of rancor, to 
leave us for Princeton, where he continued under more placid conditions 
to display the same qualities of scholar-citizen we at Berkeley had come 
to appreciate so much. I know that Carl continued to love Berkeley 
after he left and loves it to this day. 

Reginald Zelnik 
Professor of History 

February 2000 
Berkeley, California 

7 A Life of Learning, p. 7. 

* Carl speaks of the "delicate balance" between academic and 
political rights and related commitments in ibid., p. 15. 


Carl E. Schorske, professor emeritus at Princeton University, 
spent only a decade, from 1960 to 1969, as a member of the UC Berkeley 
Department of History. But what a decade! and what an active member of 
the university community he was during his tenure on the Berkeley 
campus. Knowing that his account would add an important perspective to 
the history of those times, in 1996 we invited him to record his 
recollections as the fourth memoirist in the Department of History at 
Berkeley Oral History Series. 

Rather than trying to conduct a lengthy biographical oral history 
during Professor Schorske s visits to the Bay Area, we focused on his 
experiences at Berkeley and his perspective on the social, cultural, and 
political shifts that characterized his decade here. For background on 
his family and education, his mentors at Columbia and Harvard, and his 
fourteen years of teaching at Wesleyan University, we have appended his 
Charles Homer Haskin Lecture, "A Life of Learning," given to the 
American Council of Learned Societies in April 1987. 

The oral history begins with Professor Schorske s introduction to 
Berkeley as a guest lecturer in Raymond Sontag s European intellectual 
history class in 1959. He describes being "dazzled" by the charged 
atmosphere of the large lecture hall and by the socially diverse student 
body of the public university. The following year he accepted the 
department s invitation to join its ranks as a full professor. 

His oral history records how he plunged into the life of the 
university, relishing the opportunities to exchange ideas with like- 
minded faculty in departments across the campus. He participated 
actively in the governance of the Department of History and was chosen 
as chair of the department just two years after his arrival at Berkeley. 
He provides significant recollections of fellow faculty members and of 
the social and intellectual atmosphere of the department. 

Soon after his arrival, Professor Schorske Joined faculty efforts 
to expand free speech for members of the university community. His oral 
history, and the appended documents, provide historians with an 
important record of faculty initiatives from 1961 to 1963 to broaden the 
rights of political expression within a public university, in an era 
when Communists were prevented from speaking on campus, as were 
candidates for public office of any persuasion. 

A substantial part of the oral history is devoted to the 1964-1965 
Free Speech Movement and other student protests in the sixties. 
Professor Schorske discusses his role in events as a member of the 
Academic Senate s Emergency Executive Committee during the FSM, his 


thoughts about educational reform, and his reflections on the personal 
reactions of himself and fellow faculty to the enormous cultural changes 
of the time. All considered, with his characteristic intellectual 
breadth, within the context of "how the republic of letters relates to 
the civil society." 

The interview sessions for the oral history were scheduled around 
two of Professor Schorske s visits to the West Coast, where he travels 
periodically as a member of the advisory boards of the Stanford 
Humanities Institute and the Getty Center for Art History and the 
Humanities, and for family vacations in Inverness on the Point Reyes 
Peninsula. The first session took place on October 17, 1996, in his 
hotel room in San Francisco. Although he and his wife had just arrived 
by plane from the East Coast, he was willing to sit down for nearly 
three hours of interviewing before going off to another engagement that 
evening. As a student in Professor Schorske s European intellectual 
history class in the early sixties, I recalled very well the charged 
atmosphere in his lectures and found that he brought that same 
excitement to our interview, despite his demanding schedule. Although 
he complains of his octogenarian memory, his intellectual and physical 
energy seems unabated. 

We were not able to meet again until May 5, 1997, this time in a 
seminar room of The Bancroft Library. The following day we completed 
our interviewing at the home of Robert and Carroll Brentano, history 
colleagues and friends from his time in the Department of History at 

The long hiatus between the first and the second interviews 
naturally created some disjointedness in the narrative. Issues covered 
hurriedly during our first meeting were revisited in the final two 
sessions. In the interim between October and May, Berkeley historian 
David Bellinger had contributed his ideas for areas to explore, which 
led to some backtracking and elaborating on subjects previously 
discussed. No attempt was made to integrate these two discussions 
during the editing process, since each had its own character and 

After light editing, the transcripts of the three sessions went to 
Professor Schorske for his review. He expressed disappointment with the 
impressionistic nature of his recollections and the frailty of memory. 
He made a careful review of the transcript, clarifing some statements 
and adding considerable details. He checked recollections against 
documents in his files and contributed several important documents for 
appendices. In the end, he was persuaded to let the transcript stand 
without further alterations. We assured him that we would add the 
caveat that it provided a personal account, not a final, verified record 
of events; that along with other oral histories in the series it would 
enable future scholars to assemble from varying perspectives, in concert 


with written documents, a sense of the life of the university and the 
discipline of history. 

The editing process took time, on both coasts. Other projects 
competed for oral history office staff time, and Professor Schorske was 
writing two books. "Since the oral history is for eternal consumption, 
I count on your generous disposition to forgive my procrastination," he 
petitioned in one interchange. Editorial assistant Sara Diamond 
prepared the final version of the transcript and assembled the appended 
material. By summer of 1999, the project was ready for the eye of 
former university archivist James R. K. Kantor, ROHO s proofreader par 

Professor Reginald Zelnik, a Berkeley colleague also active in the 
political affairs of the campus during the sixties, and James Sheehan, 
professor of history at Stanford University and a former Schorske Ph.D. 
student at Berkeley, wrote the two introductions to the volume. We 
thank both men for their contributions. 

On behalf of future scholars, we also thank the Department of 
History for providing the core funding to make this oral history 
possible. Appreciation is once again due Carroll Brentano and Gene 
Brucker for initiating the series on the history of the Department of 
History and for their ongoing efforts in planning and securing support 
to continue it. Additional support came from the Bancroft Library s 
Free Speech Movement Archives project, funded by a generous donation 
from Berkeley alumnus Stephen M. Silberstein, and the Schorske volume 
will be a part of the Free Speech Movement Oral History Series. 

The Regional Oral History Office was established in 1954 to record 
the lives of persons who have contributed significantly to the history 
of California and the West. A major focus of the office since its 
inception has been university history. The series list of completed 
oral histories documenting the history of the University of California 
is included in this volume. The Regional Oral History Office is a 
division of The Bancroft Library and is under the direction of Willa K. 

Ann Lage 
Interviewer /Editor 

Regional Oral History Office 
The Bancroft Library 
University of California, Berkeley 
November 1999 

xv ii 

Regional Oral History Office University of California 

Room 486 The Bancroft Library Berkeley, California 94720 

(Please write clearly. Use black ink.) 
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Date of birth /T/MflC^ / J f% Birthplace j/fttf YOfcK /l# . 

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SIGNATURE ( Cl^J/ < - <7UuM. l^ DATE: 



[Interview 1: October 17, 1996] ff 

The View from Wesleyan of the Loyalty Oath Controversy 

Lage: This is October 19, 1996, and this is an interview with Carl 
Schorske for the history of the Department of History series. 
We re not going to start with your early background because we 
only have a three-hour session now. We want to talk about your 
coming to Berkeley, why you came and how you happened to make 
the change from Wesleyan. 

Schorske: Two things. The first is that I was actually courted by 

Berkeley s department well before I came. I came in 1960, but 
in either 1955 or 1956--it was probably 55, could have been 
56--after my first book came out, I was given an invitation to 
come to look at Berkeley. I was then at Wesleyan; I was happy 
at Wesleyan. I was very suspicious of California because of 
the loyalty oath controversy, which was a very little time 
before. We re talking now late McCarthy era. McCarthy had 
already been broken by the time this invitation was issued. 

We had at Wesleyan two refugees from Berkeley. One was 
Charles Muscatine, who figures certainly in your oral 
histories, and the other was Tom [Thomas] Parkinson, both 
members of the English Department. Muscatine was a non-signer 
in the oath controversy, and Parkinson- -in the end he did sign, 
but he was an opponent. There were many people like that on 
the Berkeley campus. 

II This symbol indicates that a tape or tape segment has begun or 
ended. A guide to the tapes follows the transcript. 


They came to Wesleyan as a result of this? 

Schorske: Yes, but they came as visitors. Muscatine didn t know what he 
would do. In the end he went back because they changed the 
regulations. A number of other signers who resigned from 
Berkeley because they wouldn t sign the oath-- there were only 
twelve, I think, in allbut several of them went back. They 
didn t take permanent positions elsewhere. Muscatine didn t 
have a permanent position with Berkeley either. As I sy, they 
were refugees, both these guys. 

I had a high impression of the scholarly quality of the 
university, but I was a small college teacher, and I really 
found I loved it. So I didn t have much will to move. The 
combination of the oath history and being way out there--! 
being an easterner born and bred--. 

Lage: You d never lived on the West Coast, I assume. 

Schorske: Right, and I had never been in a state university. I had fear 
of it, partly because of the political vulnerability that 
Berkeley had manifested and seemed to manifest in a craven way, 
in the sense that they didn t fight back. Of course there were 
many places where nobody fought, so you never noticed it. 

Lage: Did your impressions come from Parkinson and Muscatine, or was 
it just known throughout the academic community? 

Schorske: No, no, it was diffuse. We had another member of my Wesleyan 
department, a wonderful person, who was actually a student of 
Ernst Kantorowicz, one of the non-signers. His name was 
Michael Cherniavsky in Russian history. We had other Berkeley 
people who were connected with this oath thing not as faculty 
members but as grad students. 

The main thing was that throughout the academic community, 
the California oath case was huge. It was the national case of 
greatest moment in the early fifties. 1 didn t need the 
presence of the refugees, in fact their presence was only a 
testimony to the quality of the intellectual life that was also 
at Berkeley, and I knew that. Anyway, I turned that first 
invitation down. 

Lecturing at Berkeley. 1959: The Excitement of the Public 

Schorske: Then I came as a fellow to the Stanford Center for Advanced 

Study in the Behavioral Sciences. I came there for the year in 
1959-60. One day I got a telephone call from Ray [Raymond] 
Sontag. He was one of the two Berkeley people- -Ray Sontag and 
Carl Bridenbaugh--who had courted me in 56 at an American 
Historical Association [AHA] meeting. 

Ray said he was going back to Washington for a couple of 
weeks on government business. Would I take his classes? He 
taught an intellectual history course at the time, and would I 
take over his classes and give the lectures, two lectures a 
week for two weeks? He was on the topic of Hegel, and it was 
something I knew about and liked. So I said, "Sure." Of 
course I was fond of him becausewell, anyway, I knew him 
somewhat from before, when he tried to get me an instructorship 
in Princeton. That effort failed because of the anti-Semitism 
that then prevailed at Princeton. I was very glad to do the 
lectures in a way to repay him for having been influential in 
getting me the offer from Berkeley. 

I really went up for those two weeks just to lecture. I 
had friends here- -Henry May who was a strong friend of mine 
from graduate school, and Henry Nash Smith in the English 
department who was likewise a Harvard friend. I had already 
reknit ties with them after the war. Then, when I came to 
California, of course somehow we activated our relation. 

The main thing was that I came and I lectured to that 
class, and I was dazzled. It was such a wonderful experience. 
It was one of these big things--! think it was Dwindle Hall, 
one of the big lecture halls. It was certainly a big hall. I 
hadn t had at Wesleyan that kind of experience. I had lectured 
at Harvard also for a term, so I knew what it was like, but 
here it was in Berkeley. It was the same thing, where you 
really felt the electricity in the classroom. 

Then, there were Sontag 1 s two teaching assistants. One of 
them was Jim [James J.] Sheehan, the fellow who just drove me 
here, who as you know is now at Stanford. He s been the 
department chairman there for years; he s not anymore. The 
other was Peter Loewenberg, who has become a leading 
psychohistorian and has been a pillar of the department at Los 
Angeles. They were Sontag s two assistants. 

Loewenberg was the nephew of a Berkeley philosopher of the 
same name who was the major Hegel scholar in the United States. 
He was, however, a non-signer. He was a resister. After just 
one lecture on Hegel, Peter Loewenberg invited me to have 
dinner at his uncle s house. 

Lage : Was he also a Loewenberg? 

Schorske: I m ashamed that I don t remember his first name [Jacob 

Loewenberg]. He wrote a kind of compendium of translations of 
Hegel s stuff with an introduction that was very well regarded. 
I had used his book in my course, actually. It was a 
coincidence that he was also one of the resisters in the oath 
controversy. So I had this very interesting evening at his 

Then I began to catch on that, oath controversy or no, this 
was really an exciting place. I loved the class, and the more 
it went on, the more I liked it. I mean we got on well. 

Lage: Did you find the undergraduate students at Berkeley to be more 

Schorske: Well, it s partly the mass. It s partly the mass. At 

Wesleyan, let s say, a big class, a really big class would be 
sixty people. Sontag was a very well-regarded lecturer and for 
good cause; his class was 200 or 230 people or something like 
that. So it was a big mass of people, and that gives you a 
sort of actor s satisfaction. You have a public to play to in 
effect, so there was some of that. 

I also felt the differentiation in the class, a social 
differentiation I had never experienced. I d taught at Harvard 
and Yale for a term here and there but never with that social 
diversity, palpably the children of people from the Valley, 
some fraternity types, others very urban, all kinds of types in 
the class. That sociological mix I found intriguing. It 
wasn t pure urban, and it was certainly not pure rural. It was 
a state university s mix, and I had never experienced it. One 
couldn t experience it except in a few places like Michigan, 
Wisconsin, Berkeley, now probably in Texas. Usually you don t 
get that mixture of urban and rural, as well as different 
classes, different types of culture, really, that compose the 
nation. So that struck me. 

Then I really did a nervy thing. I called up my friend 
Henry May, and I said, "I really have been snowed by these two 
weeks. If that job is still open and you people still want me. 

I ll take it." So, I was then invited--! think Ken [Kenneth 
M.) Stampp was chairman of the department, I m not sure. 

Lage: I don t think so because he s never been chairman. He s always 
avoided it. 

Schorske: Oh, really? Is that right? Is he one of the people you ve 

Lage: Yes, I did. It might have been Delmer Brown. 

Schorske: No, he was not yet chairman, not then. It probably was George 
Guttridge, but never mind, I don t know. That wasn t so 
significant. The fact was that I was invited then to give a 
paper at the History Club or whatever it was that used to meet 
in the Alumni House. That was sort of a test, used when a 
department hired you anyplace. I got through, and then I was 
invited to come. 

Lage: There was a very positive response to that lecture, from what 
I ve heard. 

Schorske: I know, there was. I m sure I couldn t have been asked if it 
hadn t been because I d already turned them down. You asked 
how I got here, and that was how I got here: via the Stanford 
Center and then this experience of lecturing and so on. 

Lage: And you came as a tenured professor. 

Schorske: I came as tenured--! had already gotten tenure at Wesleyan. 

Even the original offer was for tenure, and this time it was a 
full professorship which I then had. 

Settling In; Social Connections, and Thoughts on Catholicism 
and Academia 

Lage: Was your wife amenable to moving out? 

Schorske: Well, she was not that amenable. She became very engaged in 

Berkeley, but she was not that enthusiastic at first. It would 
have been easier if we d gone to Stanford which was also a 
possibility. We didn t because--! mean, it would have been 
easier because our children found wonderful schools at 
Stanford. When we came to Berkeley, the situation was much 
graver. The high school was still a high school of quality, 
and I m sure parts of it still are, but the new sociology of 

Berkeley had begun, and the cultural problem for our two 
children who were in junior highor one Just before junior 
high and one in junior highit was a terrible shock to come 
from Stanford to here. From Middletown [Connecticut] to 
Stanford was a step up both in intellectual quality of the 
schooling and in the easy middle-class socialization. It was 
easy, it was a suburb with high quality public schools. 

When we came here it was Willard Junior High [on Telegraph 
Avenue in Berkeley]. It turned out to be a terrible school for 
our children, psychologically, and it wasn t so easy with high 
school either. I ve often felt my children paid a big price 
for my job. Then very soon on top of it came the whole culture 
shift. That was also a price some of our children paid for my 
wanting to come here. That s another story. 

In any case, my wife certainly came cheerfully, and we had 
--again the reception from the people in and out of the History 
Department was just wonderful. It was just so natural. It 
wasn t because we were special, it was just naturally the way 
they behaved. The Brentanos [Robert and Carroll] found a real 
estate agent who was interested in architecture. I was just 
getting interested in architecture. He knew this town of 
Berkeley like the palm of his hand, and before we ever looked 
at anything, he told us about where the possibilities were in 
architectural termswhat kind of a little enclave we wanted to 
live in. He told us who the leading architects of Berkeley 
were and what they had done (a few I knew but most I didn t). 
He was a knowledgeable, nice, wonderful man. 

Very quickly we were taken in. I think everybody who came 
to Berkeley had this experience. That was something I hadn t 
undergone and certainly not at Harvard, the university I knew 
best. They would put on a big show if you were invited, but it 
was formal, it was dinner parties. This was personal. This 
was individual people who wanted to make you at home, and they 

Lage: And was your wife swept into a social circle? 

Schorske: Oh, yes, definitely. That was easy, too, very easy. Then we 
had friends or attachments through people the Bouwsmas we 
hadn t really known them, but very quickly--. Martin Malia, 
too, became a good friend. He was a Catholic, my wife is a 
Catholic. Sontag was, too. At Wesleyan she was very much odd 
man out. In those days Jews had already gotten into 
universities, but for Catholics it was very difficult. 

Lage: You mean for Catholics to be accepted into academic life? 

Schorske: Into academic life, especially in the eastern private schools. 
They were Protestant establishments, and the Protestants had 
become tolerant toward Jews, but they found Catholics very hard 
to take, traditionally. Their tolerance for Catholics 
developed later because there was something deeply creedal and 
institutional that was offensive to the Protestant 
consciousness. It produced, especially in liberal academic 
intellectuals, a deep intolerance. 

Lage: That s very interesting. I don t remember having that 

discussed as much as, say, resistance to the Jewish entry into 
academic life. 

Schorske: No, it wasn t, but we went through it at Wesleyan, and I saw 

the anti-Catholic prejudice strongly at work at Harvard in the 
1930s. Well, I won t spend my time on Wesleyan, but it was a 
problem. Jews had already been admitted to the faculty even 
before the war. After the war it was totally easy. Actually, 
Hitler s horror in a way really did absolutely in the end wipe 
out anti-Semitism in the American academic establishment and in 
general in the country. It was a huge turn. 

That same thing did not apply to Catholics. You must 
remember that Catholics also were seen as belonging to a rigid, 
doctrinal religion. You might be a Catholic mathematician and 
be reliable, but if you were a historian it was Just as bad as 
being a Communist, for if you were Catholic you were a prisoner 
of doctrine; the pope could tell you what to think, you know, 
and how to behave. I mean, I exaggerate slightly, but it was a 
problem, a real problem. 

Lage: But your wife didn t encounter that here. 

Schorske: No, and at Wesleyan as soon as the personal element came into 
play, Wesleyan was a wonderful place. She had never had any 
friendship problems or anything, but it was easier here at the 
beginning. The Brentanos were Catholic too. In California it 
made very little difference. We found that out in the year we 
were at the Center [at Stanford]. It was already clear. Even 
the relations between the clergy, the Catholic and the 
Protestant clergy, were so much better in California than in 
New York or Massachusetts or any of those places where they 
were terrible, holding each other at arm s length. 

Lage: More Vatican II-ism? 

Schorske: Before Vatican II. I mean these distances between the two 
faiths was so great before Vatican II and the ecumenical 

movement started by the Protestants. Well, that s enough of 

Entering the Intellectual Life of the Campus: The Arts Club and 
Other Interdisciplinary Connections 

Lage: Shall we move on to how you entered into the life of the 

Schorske: Yes, if you like, yes. I would say there were a couple of 

points of entry for me. One of them was certainly intellectual 
because I rapidly discovered and always felt it ever after-- 
the intellectual as well as social welcome mat of Berkeley. I 
don t know if it s still characteristic, but I really did think 
it was there. You didn t have to prove yourself, you didn t 
have to do anything. You were Just assumed to be here, so 
people were just naturally open. 

I found Henry Smith at a new level of intellectual 
engagement, and also in the English department, Mark Schorer, 
whom I had also known in Cambridge before the war slightly. I 
got to know him better, of course, here. Chuck Muscatine, Tom 
Parkinson--! mean, these were all well-established people in 
English. That was easy. Some of them belonged to something 
called the Arts Club; it s still going in Berkeley, 1 hope. 

Lage: Now tell me what that is. 

Schorske: The Arts Club was founded before World War 11 to introduce the 
arts, the creative arts, into the university. All over the 
nation a fight had to be fought to make the universities what 
they are today, really committed to the creative arts. They 
are training grounds in the arts to some extent. Certainly 
they have programs in creative writing, in painting and things 
like that, not just in art history or literary history, but 
doing it. 

Lage: Just as an aside I ll tell you that the art practice program at 
Berkeley now is very much threatened to the point of near 
extinction, 1 understand. 

Schorske: Well, you know that that s also true in public schools at much 
lower levels, sometimes disastrously, like in New York where 
art is one of the great avenues of advancement for people of 
color and immigrants who are good at the visual arts and at 
music. We had special high schools in New York for this, not 

to mention kindergarten programs and God knows what all. The 
last to come on board is the first to be thrown overboard, and 
that s what s happening. I m horrified to hear that art 
programs are threatened in Berkeley. The Arts Club was 
originally formed to expose and promote them, did that, and 
there were fine people in it. 

Lage: Who were the active club members? 

Schorske: By the time 1 joined it, the number of members was small, but 
they were very active and a real presence. The man who can 
tell you most about that, to my knowledge, is Charles 
Muscatine. Bill Fretter in the Physics Department was in it, 
then there was a wonderful philosopher who is still a friend of 
mine, he s at Harvard Stanley Cavell. He was teaching here, 
and in that club. With my son, 1 audited his course in 
Wittgenstein s Philosophical Investigations an intense and 
deeply disturbing intellectual experience. 

Joe [Joseph] Kerman, who is very important in my life, 
important in the sense that his workwell, Ann, you probably 
read him in my course, actually. It was a book of Kerman s 
called Opera as Drama, a marvelous book, sort of opera through 
the ages to teach people who are not themselves musically 
educated what the relation is between music and theater, plot 
and music--it was a terrific book. He s a marvelous scholar, 
another one. I was getting interested in putting music into my 
own research, so this was important for me. 

There was also [T. J.) Kent, who was a city planner here, 
and Bill [William] Wurster, who was the dean of the College of 
Environmental Design, and Leo Lowenthal in sociology. These 
were peoplemany of them, like the aesthetician Stephen 
Pepper, had been years at Berkeley, and they freely took in 
newer or younger people. In any case, there I met the whole 
interdisciplinary crowd. We had agreeable dinners, and we read 
papers to each other, giving us all feedback. 

Lage: So this was related to the research you were doing. 

Schorske: Much of it was, but more: it was related to my whole 

intellectual life, my teaching, too. My teaching did involve 
more media than the printed word, especially as I got deeper 
into the nineteenth century. My historical mission became, 
then, introducing the arts as a constituent of history- -not 
simply as an illustration of a history which is essentially 
political by tradition, but as a constituent in socio-cultural 
history. The people I met in the faculty outside the history 


department made a wider, humanistic discourse possible. I had 
it at Wesleyan, where I had a lot of very good colleagues, but 
here there were many more of them, and it was so easy to open 
the network into the German department, for example, where I 
got, you might say, tutoring in Austrian literature from Heinz 
Politzer or people in architecture who could really tell me new 
things . 

Lage: Did you do that more than most historians, do you think? 

Schorske: Yes, but that s because my problems were interdisciplinary. It 
was also because I had good connections here in the first 
place. I hate to say it, but so much in academic life is 
dependent on connections. It s just as bad as in the corporate 
empires. "Who do you know?" These faculty people, very like- 
minded to myself, could open new vistas and in a way lead me to 
the intellectual resources of the university, to have converse 
and socializing with its people. So it was partly my interest, 
but I have to say it s more entering into a congenial 
community. Nobody planned it, nobody on either end was 
planning anything, but the structure of the place was porous 
and welcoming. If you put those two things together, and add 
my need for interdisciplinary conversation in my work, that 
became important. 

The Postwar Generation s Interest in Intellectual History 

Schorske: The other thing of importance to my scholarship was the 

Department of History itself. I somewhat disagree with Gene 
Brucker s picture of its character. He separates the 
generations: the pure political narrative historians from the 
social historians. At one level he s right, but the big wave 
of the generation I belong to, just slightly older than Gene s, 
five to fifteen years olderstart ticking it off: Henry May, 
Martin Malia, Joe Levenson in Asian History, who was a 
marvelous man, Bill Bouwsma, Nick Riasanovsky--all these people 
were intellectual historians. It was a kind of a wave of 
intellectual history that swept the American historical 
profession in the forties and fifties. It isn t that we 
couldn t teach something else, but our commitment was very much 
in that vein. 

Lage: I think he was talking about the generation before you as being 
more focused on political history. I m surprised that Sontag 
was teaching intellectual history. 


Schorske: And he did it for modern Europe as a whole, but with great 

discomfort. He did it because he thought it was a field that 
needed doing, now high on the profession s agenda, and the fact 
that people like all those I ve mentioned were coming along. 
The talent in history, which very soon went to social history, 
at that time was going into intellectual history. Ray felt the 
need for American students to be exposed to modern intellectual 
history even though he was not an expert in it. He offered the 
course in the way that in my time I ve taught Greek history- -we 
do the things we sometimes do because an institution has a 
lack, and you do the best you can. He didn t want to do that 
forever; he wanted the position filled, and so did the 
department . 

So they hired a whole bunch of people. Tom Kuhn, the 
historian of science, was another who became a real good 
friend. That was a new tendency in the earliest postwar 
generation; we flocked to intellectual history. It became a 
really live and active field. It was still happily wedded to 
social history, not the intense archival social history that, 
say, Gene Brucker did, which is a very special kind. 
Nevertheless, we had a lot of that too. The American 
progressive tradition combined social and intellectual history 
in a way that I still regard as--you know, that s where I live. 
Social history and intellectual history both have gone in 
other, autonomous directions, but we could talk about that some 
other time. 

Intradepartmental Politics; Thomas Kuhn. Carl Bridenbaugh, 
Raymond Sontag 

Lage: Would you have more to say about Tom Kuhn? He does come up 
quite a bit--you ll see when you see the videotape from the 
meeting [history department colloquium on the history of the 
Department of History] that he s talked about. 

Schorske: Yes, well, I m sure that he s talked about. On the one hand, 
we all recognized that this was a very first-class guy. I 
don t think anybody had the idea that he was the world-class 
scholar which he is now recognized to have been. There are 
some historical reasons for this recognition that has come to 
him in the last twenty years. Among us faculty people in 
history, he certainly was thought to be first-class. 

There were a lot of departmental troubles that revolved 
around him. There were a lot of troubles for Tom that revolved 


around his attempt, a valiant attempt, to be both a historian 
and a philosopher of science. In the end, he had to be content 
to be labeled a historian of science, though in his very last 
years, he had turned more and more to philosophy and had 
developed that. 

In the philosophy department here he had, by his own 
account, real foes. I m not knowledgeable about all those 
quarrels. We in history tended to support him, but then we had 
a big crisis aboutthat you probably have been told about-- 
about his promotion to full professor, I think it was to full. 
He already was associate, I think; I m not sure. It was the 
thing that led in the end to Carl Bridenbaugh s resignation 
because Bridenbaugh didn t think he should have that job. 

Lage: Tell me what to recall about that. 

Schorske: Well, that was true. In any case, there was a complicated 
reason for that. Bridenbaugh had his own candidate, Hunter 
Dupree, a competent man, too, but Bridenbaugh faced in Kuhn 
supporters a very solid phalanx of the people who had been his 
ally in so many things in the earlier quarrels, most of which 
were over by the time I got here. In any case, he was a 
disappointed man that Tom was promoted over his negative 

Lage: Yet history would certainly vindicate that decision. 

Schorske: It certainly would, and it is not in denigration of Dupree, who 
also had a professorship here but could not compete with Kuhn 
in sheer intellectual brilliance. Who among us could? 

I m not going to go into the politics because partly I 
distrust my memory of the department s politics even more than 
elsewhere. All of this is tricky. I like it better when you 
can go back and forth to documents and correct yourself. In 
any case, Hunter Dupree has had a good career as a historian of 
American science. In the end, both left: Bridenbaugh in 1962, 
Dupree in 1968. They went to Brown along with Bryce Lyon 
(1965] and Perry Curtis [1975]. Bridenbaugh went first and 
brought the others after him. I think that s the way it went. 

2 For more on this incident, see oral history with Kenneth Stampp in 
this series, and David Bellinger s "Afterword" in History at Berkeley; A 
Dialogue in Three Parts (Berkeley: Center for Studies in Higher Education, 
UC Berkeley, 1998). 


Lage: Then shortly after Bridenbaugh left, he made that kind of 
amazing presidential address to the American Historical 

Schorske: Oh, he did that after he left? That was a horror, yes, I 
remember that, I remember it vividly. It was an attack on 
Oscar Handlin, but in a form which suggested that children of 
recent immigrants lacked the sensibility to write American 


Schorske: 1 can only say that in all these things, intradepartmental 

fights are like family fights. It s very difficult to control 
the ill effects of these fights. Bitternesses arise which turn 
judgments sour. This is a grave difficulty. Bridenbaugh was 
never my kind of historian. I learned from his kind of 
history, and I respected what he did. I never liked him much 
as a person. That was the way it was. I know he was a very 
valuable member of the department and did a lot of good work. 

In the end, the people then who became disappointed in his 
behavior over Kuhn would begin to see that he was flawed in 
other ways. When he made that terrible speech in the AHA, it 
was like a vindication of the bad opinion that was formed of 
him by people who could not accept his view on something else. 
So you get a general drop in his reputation that perhaps went 
too far. I don t know. 

Unlike many of my colleagues I was attached to Sontag as a 
person. On national politics we disagreed basically; there we 
had very little in common, very little. I knew that he was a 
wonderful teacher, and he did things in the department nobody 
else did. One of them was to foster connections with the 
Pacific Coast Historical Association. Now this may have 
changed, but he was a vigorous protagonist of that 
organization. Maybe a year after I came--no, it could even 
have been beforeon his invitation I went to one of these 
conferences. It was in Utah. There I met people who would not 
have had the money to go to the national conventions. They 
could only get this far. They could only go where they could 
sleep in dormitories on the cheap because they were in small, 
bad-paying little colleges scattered all up and down the West 
Coast and on into the mountain country. 

The importance of this meeting for those people was huge. 
They were drinking at the professional font of history, and 
therefore the responsibility of people who had connections with 
the national or international guild seemed to be enormously 


important. Sontag took that responsibility very seriously and 
tried to enlist people in that enterprise. That s the kind of 
citizenship you don t find very often because most university 
people say, "Why do I want to go to meet the guys from Slippery 
Rock State Teachers College? That isn t where I live, that 
isn t where 1 move." He had that service orientationhe was 
the same way towards students. 

I know he played favorites among students. But he rescued 
people for intellectual life that would have gone down the 
drain if he hadn t put the investment in. He had these 
admirable qualities as a person. Okay, so his politics- 
including his departmental politics which then became very 
suspect and distrusted because he belonged to the old guard 
that Gene Brucker describes in his lecture, he was a leader of 
it. I felt, well, okay, so he has his flaws maybe, but don t 
exaggerate to the point where you lose the huge services that 
this man is doing for history as a profession, as a constituent 
in the communal life of the country. He s doing something for 

He was another wonderful lecturer who attracted students into 
the discipline of history. 

Schorske: Indeed he was, terrific. 

I m a profiteer from his generosity, which of course 
contributes to my positive attitude. I told you about the two 
people who were his assistants when I came to this university, 
James Sheehan and Peter Loewenberg. The next year, when I 
joined the faculty, the first thing he did was, he persuaded 
these two guys to leave him. They were going to write their 
theses with him. He was the man in German intellectual 
historythey were working in German history. He persuaded 
them to sign up with me. In other words, he gave me two of his 
very best Ph.D. candidates. I always felt it was a welcoming 
present. He never said anything about it, but I knew that that 
was what was going on. 

A Vocational Mission and a Humanistic View of History 

Lage: This takes us a little off track, but was the opportunity to 

work with graduate students another thing that you appreciated? 

Schorske: Well, I had to learn that slowly. I didn t appreciate it in 
principle. I felt very strongly, and it s one of the reasons 


that I favored undergraduate work in my own vocation for so 
long, I felt that you really formed people in terms of their 
intellectual outlook when they were undergraduates. You have 
the most impact in opening them to possibilities in the pre- 
professional moment. When they are grad students, and you are 
taking them on as serious professionals, your first duty is to 
equip them with the tools of the craft--teach them clear 
thinking, rigorous methods, the arts of demonstration, and, if 
possible, encourage their imaginative initiative. 

Fundamentally, the graduate student is somebody who has 
already made a kind of choice for himself, and he has the 
parameters of his intellectual categories fairly well-defined. 
So I was a little leery about being a graduate teacher. In the 
end, of course, 1 came to love it, and at the end of my career 
at Princeton, I was a really good graduate trainer, better I 
think than I had been at Berkeley, though 1 had marvelous 
students here. I enjoyed the students, but I don t think it 
was my real mission. My real mission was more as an 
undergraduate teacher, and I think I had that in common with 
Sontag, probably, more than with most other colleagues in the 

Professionalization, as was correctly observed by Brucker 
in his excellent lecture: that was the name of the game. So 
saying, "What are the newest methods?"--that was the way most 
people introduced students to historiography. I always taught 
it as historiography, not as a historical methods class, not 
as, "What is going on in the game today?" It was always, "What 
are the large views of history, how have they evolved in 
relation to the historical context in which those historians 
conceived their mission and wrote their books?" I was making a 
history out of history, not dealing so much with the methods 
and the latest cutting edge of the discipline, but going back 
in time to see how the nature and function of history as 
thought evolved in relation to history as actuality. 

Woodrow Borah and I were at opposite ends of this, and I 
respected him a lot. He was a real methodologist , but he and I 
for a whilewe each had a section of the graduate 
historiography course. Everybody could do it their own way, 
and many people have done it since in various ways, I m sure- 
he was much more interested in the latest developments in 
historical thought and methods, and I was much more interested 
in the evolution of the idea of history and what historical 
works showed about culture and society. 

It s just a different point of view. Partly it s the 
difference between a social scientist and a humanist. History 


lies between. Some of us lean more to the one, some to the other. 
The best of us can do both, but very few are the best of us. So, 
those are the poles. 

Lage: You put yourself more towards the humanist? 

Schorske: I would be more on the humanist side, yes. I used to be more on 
the social science side, but when social science began to go 
behaviori .st and used natural scientific models, I began to 
withdraw from that form. I would have been fully on board with, 
let s say, Gene Brucker s kind of history, social history, but I 
wouldn t have been with other forms, such as quantitative history 
and things like that. Woodrow Borah was into that with great 

Lage: You talked a little bit about factions in the department. Is 

there more to say there, how it broke down? Was there more than 
politics that made the factions? 

Schorske: Yes, I would say--let s put it this way. On the whole, I felt 
that the intensity of factional feeling was kept under control. 
There were crucial decisions about tenure appointments where it 
would necessarily surface. The problem was the aftermath of those 
decisions, so that one side would consider the other to be 
manipulative and so on. 

Lage: Would they surface over, What kind of history do we want here at 
Berkeley? Or, Is this radical coming into our department? 

Schorske: I know of only one case, that of Richard Drinnon, where a 

political radical was denied tenure [ 1959-1960] . I think that 
that case could be--and wasdecided in terms other than the 
candidate s radicalism. One of the problems with anybody who is a 
deviant, whether they re politically radical or whatever they are, 
is that there are people who would make the decision because of 
the deviance but who would justify it in terms of scholarly or 
teaching inadequacy. That s one way. The opposite is equally 
true. There are people who would be so partisan that they would 
overvalue a candidate s scholarly accomplishments- -you know. 
Anyway, the thing is that politics enters the equation, but in my 
opinion, the department didn t succumb to that type of thing, 
either in this case or in any other that I recall. 

God knows when I came I already had a record as a radical 
because I worked for Henry Wallace. Kenneth Stampp was appointed 
in this department; he had a similar record. Most importantly, 
after I left the department overwhelmingly supported Reginald 
Zelnik for tenure when, I believe, there was opposition to him 

3 See the oral history with Kenneth Stampp in this series for a fuller 
account of this incident. 


at the regental level for his identification with the New Left 

Involvement in Civil Libertarian Issues 

Schorske : 




Tell me about your background because we ve got to pick up on 
your own political views. 

Well, okay, I mean my background--f irstly, as I said, I was a 
Wallace supporter, serving on the Connecticut state board of 
that movement. In the thirties I had been a left-wing 
isolationist, never a communist, but an isolationist--! sent 
you that little biographybecause as a child of German 
extraction the experience of World War was burned into my 
childhood consciousness. [See Appendix A) My father was both 
a banker and a socialist, a very odd combination. I had the 
deepest suspicion of world politics and also, therefore, 
tremendous interest in it. I had left-wing proclivities but 
then mixed them very oddly with pacifism. (This is still true, 
although there is no left to go to anymore.) 

Ken Stampp had this similar background, 
banker, but he was a German. 

His father wasn t a 

He was a Wisconsin German, that s right; I hadn t ever put this 
together, of course you re right. 

His father didn t come from an elite cultural or social group. 

My father didn t come from an elite group, but he moved into 
it. He was not college educated. The fact is that he was a 
19th century type, an autodidact of great intellectual 
acquirement. Anyhow, Ren and 1 had some similar experience 

except Ken also came from a Lutheran background, 
right about that. 

I think I m 

It s Protestant, but I don t think it was Lutheran. 

It s Protestant, maybe not Lutheran. He came of a very hard 
moralistic school, and I was not trained that way. My parents 
were much more modulated. My father was an atheist, but my 
mother was Jewish, he was gentile. They didn t--how shall I 
put it?--they did not inculcate moral rigidities. They were 
more flexible, perhaps more aesthetic. That sometimes 
modulatesmorals and aesthetics don t necessarily go hand in 


hand, they can go at cross purposes sometimes, 
know how we got off on this . 

Anyway, I don t 

Lage: This is why one thing leads to another. We were talking about 
the makeup of the department, the political factions, and I 
wanted to get your political background as well. 

Schorske: My political background was that; plus, of course, in the 

McCarthy period, like every just plain liberal, if you were a 
serious liberal, thtn you had to get into the business of the 
defense of communism, in a certain sensenot communism itself, 
but of Communists whose freedom of speech and even livelihood 
were being arbitrarily threatened or withdrawn. 

One of my first political involvements, thanks to Ken 
Stampp and Henry Smith, was with the ACLU activities. I don t 
remember whether I was a member of ACLU or not, but I can tell 
you that they got into one issue after another, the same group 
of people. I was astonished to find in my documents how far 
back the group with whom I became associated in the FSM crisis 
had been working together on other free speech questions from 
way back--1961 and probably before. 

Lage: The academic freedom and.... 

Schorske: There was Slate, I don t know if you know about the banning of 
Slate. That was the first one I was involved with. I never 
had done this stump speaking. I think Kenneth got me involved 
in that. 

Lage: And did you do stump speaking? 

Schorske: I remember only one occasion. In those days our Hyde Park was 
not on Sproul steps. There was an oakbeautifully planted 
inside Sather Gate, near Wheeler Hall an oak, I hope it still 
stands, in a kind of concrete planter. That was a place where 
you d get up and make speeches at lunchtime. So I remember 
giving a speech at lunch. In fact, there was more to it than 

Political Tolerance within the History Department, the Nature 
of the Discipline 

Schorske: Now you were talking about the department, though. I never 
felt the splits in the department deeply. We could have 
disagreements about politics, but on the whole I don t think of 


the department as ever factionalized by politics, even if there 
was the case I mentioned of the American historian, Richard 
Drinnon, who is the biographer of Emma Goldman, who was denied 
tenure. There was a divisionsome of the people may have 
voted just because of his politics. He was a leader in the 
movement against capital punishment, revolving around the 
Chessman case. I wasn t personally involved in that. 

Lage: I think Ken Stampp discussed hin, too. 
Schorske: Ken was close to him. 

Lage: And there was some question as to whether he was academically 
up to snuff, also. 

Schorske: Yes, there was. Did Ken raise it that way? 
Lage: Yes. 

Schorske: 1 think Ken favored his appointment, that was my recollection, 
but he would give you the right answer on that. He was most 
favorable to him partly because they were such close political 
colleagues. I wasn t that close to him personally, but I liked 
him very much. 

Anyway, the long and short, I think that was the only case 
where even a suspicion could be aroused that there was 
political prejudice as a factor in professional decisions. 
When I came along, nobody raised it about me, I m sure. Henry 
May knew all about my political past such as it was, and other 
people, Henry Smithall the people at Harvard knew that I had 
been active in the interventionist-isolationist debate, that 1 
was a leftist of sorts. I never felt any prejudice in the 
department about politics any more than I felt it about being 
Jewish. I don t think the department really acted that way. 

Lage: It wasn t an issue on departmental, professional matters? 

Schorske: No, no. I can tell you I ve said it a million times with deep 
satisfaction. The terrific experience of the departmental 
ethos was during the FSM when political splits developed that 
were on-campus issues but with national resonance. Even then, 
it was a matter of great pride to me, and I m sure to people 
who were miles away from me politically, that the History 
Department provided leadership for a variety of group positions 
on the spectrum of campus politics. Yet the same people who 
were opponents on the senate floor would divide differently 
over the decisions about history in the department on 
appointments, promotions, departmental policy, hiring, 


committees, anything. Campus political orientations would be 
put aside in department meetings; you would be there because 
you were a group of professionals committed to your own subject 
and your department. 

Lage: Do you have an explanation for that because it wasn t true in 
all departments sociology and 

Schorske: I have an explanation, 1 have a very simple, primitive 

explanation. History is a very ancient discipline. History 
can ill-afford, and every decade shows it more, to assume that 
it will ever create a full consensus of historical 
understanding. It isn t possible. Look, we re not as old as 
Methuselah, we re not as old as the Jewish race, but we are old 
enough to have known that people who fervently believed in the 
truth of one set of meanings in history have been superseded 
again and again by people with totally different ideas. The 
"cutting edge" is suspect in history because we know from 
experience that it will soon prove ephemeral. It too will 
vanish. You know, when you get to be older, you realize that 
you, too, have vanished--! mean that your works will dieor, 
at best, will be absorbed into the stream of historical 
thought. The work that one day is the rage, the next day it s 
old hat. Historians are, I think, much more aware of 
transience than social scientists. That s the way it is. 

I feel that the historian s skeptical sensibility has 
tended to make them more catholic. Their judgements about 
people in the profession should not be derived from the 
opinions they hold, the faith they are committed to, the 
politics they pursue or things of that sort, for they do not 
constitute a good basis for professional judgement. It s too 
uncertain. If a person looks as though he s got a great faith 
or general idea, and he s interpreting history by means of it, 
just because you don t share the great idea, that doesn t mean 
he isn t doing something really creative and important in his 
historical work. Fine history can be written with ideas and 
values we may not share. Look at Thucydides or Ranke! 

Lage: Why doesn t a discipline like sociology share this? 

Schorske: That s the second point. It often does, but its belief in 
itself as a science causes difficulties. I ve been very 
involved in this quite lately because I ve been running the 
project in the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, a history 
of the development of academic culture since World War II, the 
last fifty years. We ve only studied four disciplines (history 
is not one of them). We didn t take sociology either; we took 
political science. 


I can tell you that there is one theme that comes up in the 
fifties: the use of the scientific model. If you look at the 
political science department in the crisis of FSM, and the 
campus upheaval, it is split, and so is sociology, to a large 
degree on the lines of methodological commitment. The people 
who are working firmly within the scientific model are on the 
right side of the political spectrum. The people who are 
either descriptive of social inequities, social suffering and 
so on, where you ve already got the intrusion of some kind of 
ethical norm into the definition of the scholarly problem, 
those people are likely to be on the left of the spectrum. In 
sociology, it certainly worked that way. 

Kingsley Davis in sociology, a master of demographic 
sociology; Charles Clock, who did survey researchthese men 
brought new statistical power to their discipline. They were 
very conservative people in campus affairs. I ve never figured 
out this whole taxonomy psychologically. There are different 
reasons for different groups, surely there must be, but in 
political science, too, the correspondence between attitude in 
campus politics and scholarly method was palpable. 

Lage: They are still a very split department from what I understand. 

Schorske: The people who committed themselves to the scientific method at 
the moment when it became the thingthe behavioralists in 
political science assumed responsibility for a certain 
predictive capacity. They became very suspicious of 
traditional political philosophy and the intrusion of its 
normative externalities into the business of scientific 
hypothesis formation and testing. 

The problem with testing is it s always based on regularity 
and repetition. If something comes along, like the nineteen- 
sixties cultural revolution which nobody expected, nobody 
could have anticipated, this explosion; or the race problem-- 
with a scientific predictive mechanism, you couldn t do that 
because you re always working with the existing reality. Hence 
the future is a closed book to you except insofar as you think 
you can extrapolate. A new situation challenges your very 
method, your scientific ego. 

Lage: The 1960s may have thrown them more, then. 

Schorske: It threw them more. I think it really threw them more, 

throughout the country, not just in Berkeley. When I look at 
the Aaron Wildavskys and others, who were that side of 
political science at Berkeley, they were the people who felt 
most outraged by the student movement. 


Now there was another group that was very close always to 
governmental policyPaul Seabury, Robert Scalapino, etc. --it 
was also on the right in the university crisis and on the 
Vietnam War. They were descriptive in their approach to 
politics. It was the [Sheldon] Wolins, Hanna Pitkin, [John] 
Schaar--it was a cluster of people, actually they came to 
center around Wolin--who were in the tradition of philosophical 
political theory. Schaar was an Emersonian. Wolin was a 
mixture of classical and Old Testament scholarship with the 
great books of political science from Plato to Tocqueville and 
Hannah Arendt. He became a very close friend of mine and a 
collaborator on the left in the university crisis. 

Anyway, those divisions in method that reenforced the 
political split we never had in history; and I always felt that 
made life possible. One could go back to the history 
department feeling reasonably happy about the way intellectual 
respect and humility blunted the cruel edges of political 

Lage: So you think it s the nature of history more than the social 
relationships and the culture of the department? 

Schorske: I don t want to say that it s "more than," but that it is a 

factor I would certainly say, and it is not often noticed. As 
I remember it, in the chemistry department there was one 
personthere was one person who was on the left, he was all 
alone. Although everybody liked him. 

Physics wasn t so, it was split. There are different kinds 
of physicists, and I don t know how much a taxonomy of 
methodological analysis could be co-related with a taxonomy of 
political attitude there. 

Lage: Maybe theoretical versus experimental physicists. 

Schorske: I do not know. I really don t know enough about it. 1 can 

think of a few examples that would lead one to that view, but 
that would take more looking. As you say, social factors enter 
in. What place does the department have in the university 
councils? Does it have a strong ego or a weak ego as a 
consequence? Where is it in the national roster? That can 
also affect people s conservatism or radicalism. 

Lage: What I m also thinking, Just very much more simply what kind 
of social interaction is there between the members? The 
development of friendships, the kind of thing you ve described. 


Schorske: Yes, well, 1 think that s important. I ve often felt that 
scientists are marvelous at that. Maybe I m wrong or have 
romanticized them. I ve seen them also as models in teaching. 
The science student in the laboratory with his professor--! 
know that sometimes the professors don t give credit to science 
students who have made key interventions and helped their work, 
have even been the originator of an idea or something-- 
nevertheless, basically scientists work with their students 
with an admirable intensity, treating them as their equals in 
the same operationcoffee together, bag lunches for reading 
papers of graduate students to faculty and vice versa, and 
questioning weekly visitors in common. There s an esprit de 
corps that s terrific and lacking in history graduate 
education as I have known it. 

When I was at Berkeley, one of the things I hoped for was 
that we could generate that particular dimension of science 
education, the socialization around the intellectual life, that 
we could make that more widespread. My attempts, centering on 
the creation of a group in intellectual or cultural history, 
were inadequate in this direction and were rejected by the 
department. I m trying to say that whatever the intellectual 
divisions among scientists, they did not seem to interfere with 
the socially organized intellectual life, that social 
networking was very strong in a positive way. In some 
departments that may have made them look uniform; in others it 
may have led to splits. I don t know what those correlations 
are. Speculation in this area is not enough. Real research is 

Lage: All food for thought. It s an interesting project you re doing 
there, on the development of academic culture. Is David 
Hollinger [professor of history at UC Berkeley] involved in 

Schorske: Yes, he is. The study compared the intellectual development of 
four disciplines since World War II, in three temporal phases. 
David wrote a paper on that period since 1980. I did one on 
the period 1945-1960, when the scientific model acquired an 
unprecedented salience in the social sciences and philosophy.* 

* Thomas Bender and Carl Schorske (editors) American Academic Culture 
in Transformation. Fifty Years. Four Disciplines (Princeton: Princeton 
University Press, 1997). 


Appointed Chair of the Department, 1962 

Lage: Let s turn to your chairmanship of the history department, and 
then go back and pick up the McCarthyism/f ree speech types of 
things and end at FSM [Free Speech Movement]. How does that 

Schorske: We could do that. 


Lage: You became chairman of the history department in 62, a mere 
two years after you came to Berkeley. 

Schorske: Yes. 

Lage: And that, I think is something of note: that you would be 
chosen as chair so soon. 

Schorske: Well, it may be. Some of my colleagues probably knew of my 
wartime administrative experience. Maybe I was seen as 
somebody who had the confidence of factions still at war with 
each other or distrustful of each other. It s the trust 
problem that s always basic for these things. But above all, 
it was Berkeley s amazing openness to the newcomer, of which I 
spoke above, that made my appointment possible. 

Lage: Is the chairman chosen by his peers, or by the dean? 

Schorske: Chosen by the dean, but the peers are consulted in depth. I 

don t know exactly what the procedure was then or now, but the 
normal thing is that the department members are expected to 
write their recommendations, and whether they do it directly to 
the dean or through the chairman, I don t remember at all, but 
certainly the dean would canvass very carefully, not only by 




letters, but also by interviewing people he thought it was 
worth talking toespecially if it s a troubled department. 
Sometimes he knows the department well, sometimes he doesn t 
know it at all. We had a dean who was very well disposed to 

That must have been Lincoln Constance [dean of the College of 
Letters and Science, 1955-1962). 

Lincoln Constance, that s it. He knew us well and handled the 
divisions tactfully. I would say Sontag was the leading 
surviving "old guard" person, but Bridenbaugh as senior leader 
of the younger faction had more power. But Professor Guttridge 
was also a very sage senior member. I was on good terms with 
Sontag and Stampp, and May s my oldest friend here. All were 
close to Lincoln Constance, I believe; maybe also to Bill 
Fretter [associate dean], I don t know. I was in the Arts Club 
with Bill Fretter, so he might have known me from that. It s 
very hard to know-- 

All these networks. 

It isn t even terribly important, 
to a sudden operation. 

My term was very short, due 

Organizing a Historians Petition on the Bay of Pigs 

Schorske: When Kennedy came in, I was like most academics very high on 
his advent, and I talked enthusiastically about it on a radio 
station in Oakland, I remember. But then came the Bay of Pigs. 

Lage: You talked on the Oakland station about what? 

Schorske: On the inaugural speech of Kennedy. It was two historians; the 
other was a friend of mine from Dominican College, Marshall 

Lage: Commentators? 

Schorske: Right, amateur commentators, exactly. Very quickly after that 
came the Bay of Pigs, very shortly. Then I did organize a 
national historians petition against the Bay of Pigs, to put 
a big ad in the New York Times and other papers. We soon found 
out the place to get our views across was through foreign 
papers, because in the United States, academic intellectuals 
couldn t get news stories on this, you d have to pay for it 



all. But foreigners would pick it up when historians in 
numbers launched a protest. 

What the intellectuals thought was important in foreign 
countries wasn t important here, and it was a much better 
avenue abroad because here people were so still in the anti- 
communist vein that the Bay of Pigs didn t look bad until quite 
a lot later. It looked bad abroad more quickly because it was 
the United States that was doing it and not they. We learned 
that it was easier to get pressure on our own government 
indirectly from abroad than it was to exercise it at home. 

How interesting. 

In any case, I remember having a coffee with Nick Riasanovsky 
in the little canteen in Dwinelle about the day after the Bay 
of Pigs happened, and how concerned we both were. A number of 
historians participated in this effort here. We mobilized our 
colleagues around the country for a statementno big deal. 

Protesting University Policies on Slate and the Use of the 
University Name 

Schorske: There were always running issues at Berkeley, administrative 
harassment of political expression. Thus the suspension of 
Slate. Then came the matter about the university name; we had 
a crisis about the use of the university name. 

Lage: About the university name? 

Schorske: Yes. Faculty members were not supposed to identify themselves 
as being faculty members of the University of California when 
they engaged in political causes. We regarded that as anybody 
would all over the country, we were here. If you were the 
president of a corporation, no reason you shouldn t say that 
you re with Latex, or whatever it is, when you express your 
views . 

Lage: Right, you re not speaking for the institution. 
Schorske: No. So, we didn t accept that restriction. 
Lage: And that was during your chairmanship? 


Schorske : 

Schorske : 

Schorske ; 




No that was before [Spring 1962). But here already in this 
Slate casethis is so interestingthis is a long memorandum 
which we did 

That was in 61? 

August 23, 61. This is a memorandum to President Kerr and 
Chancellor Strong [about the suspension of the student 
political organization, Slate]. 1 don t think I was chairman 

No, that was the year before. 

I can give you this document [see Appendix B), but what I 
wanted to point out to you is that the people who were involved 
in this [memorandum defending student political rights] --all of 
the people whose names appear here as signatories, were the 
faculty later on involved in drafting the faculty s December 8 
resolution in the Free Speech crisis. We were the civil- 
libertarian left-wing of the faculty that did that. 

The continuity came as a total surprise to me when I found 
it in my papers now! This is August 61, but already people 
are only talking about Slate because they were civil 
libertarian; Van Kennedy (one of the signatories) was a leading 
civil libertarian on campus. I can t remember whether he was a 
political scientist or a lawyer--! can t remember. Hanan 
Selvin, I think, was a sociologist. I don t know where his 
politics evolved. But the fact is these people- 
Henry Nash Smith, Philip Selznick, Leo Lowenthal 

Leo Lowenthal recently died, 
department . 

Charles Sellers. 

He too was in the sociology 

Charles Sellers, and Kenneth Stampp. So three of these eight 
people who took this initiative were in the history department, 
and there might have more. 

Now we re getting into the roots of the Free Speech Movement. 

Well we are, but it s also partly about the Department of 
History because the Aptheker case was centered in it. 

I have to simply say: to my surpriseit belongs somewhere 
in the center of the story long before the students were 
activists in these matters, the faculty was activated; but it 




was the civil libertarians in the faculty that were activated. 
They were, in certain sense, the forerunners trying to get the 
policies changed in the university in order to overcome the 
liabilities that clung on from the past, including the oath, 
but reaching farther back. 

Those policies were depriving people on the campus of the 
right of political expression. So, it goes back to 61, and 
even the use of the university name. There s another document 
that is just indicative of the temper of the time. 

Would something like your taking out an ad relative to the Bay 
of Pigs--would you not be allowed to identify yourself? 

No, if I had signed, and I probably did. Nobody challenged my 
right to sign it directly, but identification definitely would 
have been covered by this policy; you would not be allowed to 
do that. 

Lage: Do you know who George was here [signature on a memo regarding 
the use of the university name]? [See Appendix C) 

Schorske: George Stocking, he s a professor of history. I was on the 
search committee when he was hired. He is at Chicago now in 
history and anthropology, a very distinguished man. 

Sponsoring an Off -Campus Colloquium with Herbert Aptheker, 
March 1963 

Schorske: Now, here s the Aptheker case, and that to me is--do you want 

Lage: Definitely. 

Schorske: The Aptheker matter--! was department chairman when that 

happened, and I will give you these documents. Do you know the 
outlines of the Aptheker case? I could tell, if you want, my 
remembrance of this story. 

We invited Herbert Aptheker as a History Club lecturer-- 
that s described here [See Appendix D]--who was one of the 
earliest historians of the blacks. Kenneth Stampp can situate 
him exactly historiographically; I can t. He was not a man of 
genius by any means. He was a professed Communist and an 
editor of one of their periodicals, and he wrote a Marxist 
history of the Negro, but he was also a pioneer in history 


doing that subject; people simply didn t do it. Ken was 
another pioneer later. Anyway, he was invited to the campus. 
1 don t think we invited him because he was a Communist, but 
maybe- - 

Lage: You don t think you saw it as a test case? 

Schorske: I don t think so originally, but it could be that we did: that 
it was a piece of, you might say, testing the rules, or 
malicious mischief, if you wish. 

Lage: It s not so malicious. 

Schorske: Well, whatever; but it could have been something like that. I 
cannot guarantee that some civil libertarian motive like that 
wasn t in it. But in any case, we had already had a foreign 
Communist speaking. He was a Russian Marxist and a historian, 
and we had him at a graduate colloquium with no interdiction 
from the administration. This occasion too was only a graduate 
colloquium, not a public exercise. We usually let people in if 
they wanted to come, but it wasn t something- - 

Lage: It wasn t being publicized? 

Schorske: No. So we invited Aptheker, and then as we knew, I had to 

apply to the administration for permission to pay him, and then 
it was denied on grounds that there was a regulation that 
forbade Communists to speak. So we then took the lecture off 
campus . 

Lage: Was it denied by the chancellor s office? 

Schorske: It was denied by the chancellor himself. I went to Chancellor 
Strong on it, and he denied it--he couldn t help it. He was 
bound by the rules. 

Lage: Was he at all sympathetic? 

Schorske: Well, you will see from my correspondence with him- -yes, in a 
way, he was sympathetic. He had not been the worst in the 
older days of the oath. 

Chancellor Strong. He was a very fine man actually, a very 
nice, gentle man, and it was horrible that he was plunged into 
the FSM thing later. But he was not a strong man; his name 
didn t fit the character. He had convictions, but he didn t 
necessarily live by them if higher authority said "No." So I 


think he was sympathetic to our action, but he couldn t say 
that to me either, and I understood that. 

Anyway, the long and short was --Ken Stampp was involved 
with this. I think he and I worked the strategy together. 
Others may have been involved, possibly Henry May, I don t 
know. We decided that we would have him speak off campus and 
would pay him ourselves; we would pass the hat. So we did. I 
think, in the end, we only paid him forty dollars or something 
like that. Of course, in those days, you got fifty dollars for 
a lecture at a university. 

Lage: That s right, it s more than it sounds like. 

Schorske: In any case, we decided to do it. The department voted twenty- 
seven to one, with two abstentions--! found the figures in 
favor of this. So solid was the department. This was a 
principle. The guy was a bona fide historian, nobody could 
deny it, and it was an academic exercise, a graduate 
colloquium. He was going to be questioned as speakers are; he 
was going to be criticized as speakers are. But it was part of 
the educational process, so we were very firm. I don t even 
remember any big discussion of pro and con in the department. 

Lage: Everyone had recognized this, it seems. 

Schorske: Right. That s the kind of thing again, see. That s nitty 

gritty basic university; that s the teaching function. What do 
you need academic freedom for? This is what s it s all about. 
Of course, I was able to report that. 

After we held the event in the YMCA, we made an appeal as a 
department--! don t know with what vote, because it isn t 
recorded in this document to the Academic Freedom Committee 
[of the Academic Senate], that they should now take up the 
question of this so-called Rule Five that had prevented us from 
inviting Aptheker to the campus. We detailed the history and 
the reasons why we thought they really must go after this 
question. So there it wasbut you see how well it feeds into 

Lage: Yes. 

Schorske: In this case the conflict with the administration was only at 
the university teaching level, but very soon it became- -as it 
had already started to be with the Slate thing the students 
right to political organization, which the university was 
denying. That s a different question. But they re so closely 
related, and the same people who got activated around one would 


be activated around the other; but there was a much bigger 
community that would be activated around the interference with 
academic freedom in its teaching dimension than with the 
political citizenship rights of an academic community. That s 
a larger question on which divisions can be deeper, and where 
the proportions are different. I came to realize the 
difference from the Berkeley experience. 

Moderating the Appearance of Mickey Lima, First American 
Communist to Speak on Campus, July 1963 

Lage: Did you find something in your papers relating to Mickey 
[Albert J.) Lima s coming to campus? 

Schorske: Oh yes, I did indeed. I have a whole bunch of stuff. That was 
really odd. It was July of "63. I don t know if I was still 
the chairman. It sounds to me like I had my operation in April 
or something, and that ended my chairmanship. 

Lage: You were chairman in 62 and 63. 

Schorske: I don t know how long into 63. It is not stated in any of 

these documents on Lima that I was the chairman. My guess is 
that I was no longer chair. It was in the summer; it wasn t 
even in the school session. It was interesting for me to find 
my speech, since I couldn t even remember the episode. 

Lage: It was [Professor of History] Irv Scheiner who remembered it 
and was telling me about it. 

Schorske: There is the speech that I made, and then I got notes, for 
example, from Strong. 

Lage: Was this held off campus also? 
Schorske: No, that was on campus. 

Lage: I see; this was the first time a Communist spoke on campus 
because the rule was changed? 

Schorske: Yes. Well, no, a foreign Communist had talked, but this was 

Lage: An American. 


Schorske: Right. Of course, there was a ruckus with the Regents, and I 
have correspondence with a few people, including a nice note 
from Clark Kerr, who then favored letting Communists speak. 

Lage: This is wonderful [looking at correspondence). 

Schorske: Yes. It s not much, but it s a little. Here s a letter from 
Bill Davis, who was the head of Stiles Hall, the YMCA. That 
was a refuge, where we had taken the Aptheker colloquium, but 
he wrote me this note about Lima. 

Lage: Stiles Hall for years took this role. 

Schorske: Right. 

Lage: Max Rafferty? 

Schorske: That s the letter from Clark Kerr where he was trying to brush 
off some Rafferty pressure; he was under terrible pressure from 
Rafferty and the right. This is an interesting letter from 
Strong: "Dear Professor Schorske: Now that the ordeal is over, 
I want to express my sincere appreciation to you for taking on 
this extremely difficult chore of moderating the Lima meeting." 
It wasn t "an ordeal," or even a difficult chore. "I have read 
your thoughtful opening remarks and have heard from members 
from my staff and others who were present how well you handled 
the entire proceeding." Well, there was nothing to handle; it 
was in Wheeler Aud; all were orderly people. "The continued 
success of the open forum policy"--which Kerr and Strong 
backed, certainly--"depends on the conduct of the programs." 
That s where we would differ, because we would definitely want 
to have an open forum policy. Only then is the question one of 
containing any attempt to disruptbut you have got to have the 
principle of freedom first, then you could put the other after 

Then I wrote him. I ll just give you this [July 30, 1963). 
I think you should read it; it s easier to do that. 

Lage: We can put a copy of these letters in the oral history. [See 

Appendix E) You refer here to the telephone campaigns to which 
Strong was subjected. 

Schorske: My wife found out that his wife had complained about the 

telephone campaign to which he had been subjected. She told me 
about it, so I could allude to the fact that I knew what 
pressure he had been under. 


And this was before he really had to endure it, during the FSM. 




Schorske : 


Sure... sure. My wife told me that his wife said she found the 
solution. She put the telephone at the bottom of her laundry 
basket. [laughter] Isn t that sweet? 

[laughter] She was a very sweet woman. 
She was. Did you know her? 
I knew her slightly. 

I knew her hardly at all. 1 liked him. He was a sweet man 
until, under the pressure and the crisis he grew rigid and 
rudderless. He was in the Arts Club. 

He was? 

All the philosophers were strong in it. 
said before, was one of the founders. 

Stephen Pepper, as I 

We have oral histories with Strong and Pepper, and with a lot 
of this older generation of professors. [See University 
History Series list following the index in this volume.) 

Thoughts on the University in Society, and Instability and 
Intellectual Creativity 

Lage: Let s continue with the interest in free speech on the part of 
the faculty. 

Schorske: Yes, it was a continuous problem, and one of the things that it 
led me to was really thinking through the relation between the 
life of the universitywhat it is as an institutionand 
public life. 

Lage: The public life of a faculty member? 

Schorske: No, the life of the whole community. How are we related? What 
are our responsibilities to the whole community? And what is 
the sociological relation of our vocation as educators and 
scholars in the university? And what is the university in 

Lage: Was it more pertinent to the public university, or was this a 
question you would ask also of a private university? 

Schorske: It s a question of the nature of the university altogether, 

over time, beginning in the Middle Ages. I became interested in 
the subject of not just the intellectual content of thought, 
but of the institutional form of learned thought that is 
involved with the transmission and enlargement of learning. A 
big problem. 

The Berkeley thing crystallized it. Partly as a result of 
being new here I began to see California as a unique setting, 
historically, in modern American history. It has some 
resemblance to a region I have Just been to for the first time 
in my life that I adored touring in: Thuringia in Germany. It 
contains Weimar, Erfurt, Eisenach--that s one of the places of 
Luther--and Jena, Gotha--a whole string of towns very important 
to the political and cultural life of Germany at least from the 
fourteenth to the twentieth century. Thuringia has always been 
a society of political instability and polarization, of 
religious, cultural, and social variety and instability, and 
tremendous creativity. A strange mix. This was the mix I felt 
in California, and at Berkeley. 

Lage: Are you saying this in retrospect? Or was the comparison one 
you thought of then? 

Schorske: Thuringia I thought of then. Mind you, I wasn t just in 
intellectual history; before I came to Berkeley I taught 
general European history as well. And I ve always been 
interested in comparisons. Even my course was constructed 
comparing England, France, and Germany. The other area like 
Thuringia in modern historyin the nineteenth century and 
twentieth century historyis the Reggio nell Emilia in Italy . 
It is another volatile social area with a lot of creativity, 
but also with a lot of instability. 

I first encountered Thuringia and Saxony as a student of 
socialism. They figure big in socialist history, for both 
areas have extremes of right and left, so its very hard to 
construct something to hold that all together. It s also the 
area of Goethe, of Nietzsche, of huge intellectual, cultural 
titans. And university life in these regions is fascinating. 
In my course I never talked about Thuringia itself but about 
its university, Jena. Jena was the university where Fichte and 
Hegel taught. Why this place? Why should this suddenly be the 
hot spot for philosophic innovation in the French Revolution? 
What s going on? That kind of issue interested me. But with 
it, then, how do the universities behave in relation to the 
political authority outside, or political mass movements 


The university is always bedeviled by people who want to 
make instruments of it. In my opinionand that s the thing 
that crystallized for me at Berkeleythe university has to 
take the tensions of society into its own body. It doesn t 
resist them, it accepts them. But it insists that once inside 
walls, the social tensions be Intellectualized. You have to 
convert the poison of social discord into the sap of 
intellectual vitality. 

Lage: I see what you mean; I m just wondering if that s what the 
students had in mind, during FSM? 

Schorske: Some of them had in mind turning the university over to their 
own interests, social and ideological interests, as, too, many 
of the regents did. Probably most of them thought very much 
like other people: that this is a place which ought to serve my 
purposes; my social purposes. That s a different thing from 
trying to come to grips intellectually with the multi 
dimensional character of the problems of society that are 
surfacing in the university. There are many faculty members 
and that is a major factor always in universitieswho see the 
university as a place where they can pursue their private 
scholarship quietly, without examining the university s 
function for many, often conflicting, social interest groups. 

Lage: They don t want these tensions brought in. 

Schorske: If they do come in and especially if they came to the students 
and more civically oriented faculty get them the hell out of 
here! They don t belong here if they re trying to do that. 
They don t necessarily make the same objection if the external 
authorities try to impose a political standard on them, but 
they can, as the oath crisis showed. They don t like that 


Schorske: I kind of lost my train of thought [during the tape change]. 

Lage: You were speaking of the role of the university in a time of 
societal tensions. 

Schorske: The tensions are here. Right. And the question is: to what 
extent is that an eternal problem of the university, and to 
what extent is it a temporary problem? You hit the head you 
see. You have to fight now conservative Max Rafferty or 
Senator Rnowland, now some student radical who s trying to stop 
the university in its tracks. Michael Lerner once said to me-- 






Schorske : 


I paraphrase-- n We ll turn this place into Slippery Rock State 
Teachers College, if you don t shape up." 

This is like a threat? 
Yes, a threat. 

That puts you in the position of being in the middle in some 
ways, but not quite. 

It does in a way. What I see in that is that there are two 
different principles in play: the principle of the university 
is that of intellectual exploration and dispute; and the 
principle of the society and the polity is of another kind. 
The dynamic in each bears some relation to the others, but 
they re not the same. Neither one has the right, in my 
opinion, fully to govern the character and function of the 
other. It isn t our business to tell them what to do, and it 
isn t its business to tell us what to do. It s the dialectical 
interaction between the two to find the right way of balancing 
the meeting of the needs of the society with the meeting of the 
needs of a university community that is part of a universal 
community of learning much bigger than the polity in which it 
is located. Learning itself is a verb. It s not a noun, it s a 
process! But it has its own law, and that law has to be 
respected by the civil society or it can t be carried on. 

Were you thinking in these terms when you were actually 
involved in the Emergency Executive Committee [during FSM]? 

Before I became involved in that. My thinking had begun 
earlier. It began with respect to the earlier crises we have 
talked about. I remember giving a talk at Westminster House, a 
Presbyterian center. They invited me to give something on the 
idea of the university. To prepare for it, I sat down and 
figured out a position on it for the first time. I gave this 
lecture after that several times, usually to church or student 
groups that were interested in it. 

This was before FSM? 


Right, before FSM. In the end I wrote about this subject, 
was called something like "Professional Ethos and Public 
Crisis." I See Appendix F] I gave the paper in the plenary 
session of the Modern Language Association, to which I was 
invited by Henry Nash Smith, who was one of my friends here at 
Berkeley. That was in March 1967 or 1968. Into that paper 
went all the stuff I had learned through the Berkeley 
experience, but also in teaching my course: writings on this 


subject, the private sphere, and the public sphere, and the 
history of the university that I really investigated just as a 
person who had gotten engrossed with this range of issues. 

It was half a historical exercise, but I felt we had to put 
ourselves into a historical perspective as we had to put 
ourselves into a political perspective to see what was going on 
outside the university and what was going on inside, and what 
you could expect in terms of pressures on you, even from within 
by external forces, but also from without. 

Shifting Political Spectrums in the Sixties 

Schorske: Now I m talking personally here. It was a personal issue before 
we got to that. If you ask Martin Malia, if you interview him 
which I think it would be worth your doing, or Delmer Brown- - 
no, I don t think he was involved in thisMartin and Delmer 
became very close over the FSM things because they had a 
conservative coalition, the Faculty Forum, to which most the 
members of the history department leaned. 

Lage: Was it conservative? Or would you call it centrist? 

Schorske: A little of each. These are very difficult terms to fix. You 
said earlier, "you sound like a centrist." I thought of myself 
as a centrist. To me the Faculty Forum people were 
conservative, to them I was a leftist. The watershed in 
politics keeps shifting in a fluid social situation. 

Lage: It shifted a lot during that year. 

Schorske: It did. So people who were at one moment what you could 

generally characterize as a large left if the watershed begins 
to shift, many of the people who were in the large left become 
a large center, and the left becomes smaller, while the people 
in the center begin to move right. That I really remember from 
these days; the worst days of the crisis which were not these 
early ones in 64, 65. To me, the most terrible ones were 
69, 70--in that era, which I had only one year of before I 

Lage: It was probably 68- 69. 

Schorske: Maybe it was. Yes, 68-69. Then I experienced a lot of it. 

The Third World strike is what I m referring to. That was the 
worst time I experienced. When things got to a certain point 


in the disintegration of communal bonds, you have somebody at 
your right who thinks you re a Maoist, and you have somebody at 
your left who thinks you re a fascist. And you re in the 
middle between these two, and every man in the whole community 
has exactly the same experience. No matter if he s way over to 
the right, or way over to the left, somebody thinks- - 

Lage: --he s a fascist or a Maoist. [laughter] 

Schorske: [laughter] Yes. That s when it got the worst. But normally 
the larger groups define the options, and individuals shift 
from one to another. Thus the watershed shifts let "s say a 
person like Irv Scheiner, who had been definitely with Larry 
Levine and people like me further left of the spectrum early in 
the conflict, became a centrist with Delmer and Martin. [The 
Faculty Forum was the counterweight to the earlier "Committee 
of Two Hundred." The latter--! remember nowwas the name of 
the larger group rallied by the old civil libertarian faculty 
members that I belonged to. --added by Professor Schorske 
during editing. ] 

The Free Speech Movement --Some Recollections 

Lage: Now that was during FSM. 

Schorske: Yes, that is in the early and middle years of the university 
crisis . 

Lage: Maybe we should go back to FSM? 

Schorske: We can. I m not all that good on it. 

Lage: Maybe your memories aren t as keen. 

Schorske: They re not so clear. 

The Emergency Executive Committee: Selection and Role 

Lage: You were on the Emergency Executive Committee. It appears that 
that was a group to defend those December 8 Academic Senate 
resolutions, and you spoke to the Regents to persuade-- 

Schorske: That s right. 


Lage: Do you remember anything about dealing with the Regents at that 

Schorske: Yes, I would have to backtrack a little bit because 1 think 

that would get a little too detailed for my memory of the FSM; 
maybe we should save that for anther time. 

I want to tell you something interesting about the faculty 
election to the Emergency Executive Committee. I found in my 
files at home, and I don t think I brought it with me, but I 
could supply it to you, some university document that listed 
the candidates for the Emergency Executive Committee--maybe it 
was a Daily Cal [the student newspaper). There was an election 
list of maybe twenty-five or so candidatesa huge number of 
people nominated. [See Appendix G] 

I think in the end, six or seven were to be elected. The 
report gave the number of votes received by the candidates on 
the first round and the second round. I was, in a certain 
sense, a candidate of the left. At least I was as far left on 
the spectrum as you could go [on that list of candidates), and 
I was not at the farthest left. There were, in that early 
phase, John Searle, Reggie Zelnik and other people who were 
much closer to the student position than I was myself. 

Lage: But they weren t nominated? 

Schorske: To the best of my knowledge they were not. I didn t see any of 
their names on that list. Reggie Zelnik would be very reliable 
on this kind of thing. We worked with our faculty group, but 
he was much closer to the students in general. 

Lage: He was very young and new at that point. 
[Telephone interruption) 

Lage: We were talking about the choice of members of the Emergency 
Executive Committee, during the December 8, 1964, meeting of 
the Academic Senate. 

Schorske: Yes. And that was interesting because, firstly, the results of 
the election were--I never analyzed it before, never thought of 
it until 1 saw the results now were preponderantly of the 
professional school faculties: two lawyers, Arthur Sherry and 
Richard Jennings [ex officio as chair of the Academic Senate); 
two business school people, Art Ross, who became the chairman 
of the committee, and Budd [Earl] Cheit, who s still at the 
business school; and one professor from the agricultural 
school, [Raymond] Bressler. Thus five of seven were from the 
professional schools. Only two came from Arts and Science: an 

older molecular biologist very close to the medical school and 
myself. I was the only person from Arts and Science, pure and 

Lage: And this was by vote from twenty-five to-- 

Schorske: So that was the second round. So I got through the net, in 

effect. I had the second largest number of votes on the first 
round, with twenty-five or so candidates running. In the 
second round, however, I had very few more votes than I had on 
the first round; just about the same number. Thus the other 
faculty members had converged on the professional school 
candidates . 

Lage: That s very interesting. 

Schorske: I found it fascinating because the professional school 

candidates were not people who had been very vocal on the floor 
of the Senate when all these debates were going on, when every 
third speaker was from the history department or some other 

Lage : It sounds like they picked the moderates. 

Schorske: They did, but there were many moderate candidates from Arts and 
Sciences. They picked more than the moderates; they were all 
people with a long campus history of committee work. This 
institution is faculty run, but it s run through committees. 
Usually from the committees, we get then a tier of elite people 
who will become chancellors or deans or things like that. So 
it s a continuum, what they call middle management. It was the 
middle management of the faculty bureaucracy that prevailed in 
this election. 

Lage: Had you been involved in committee work? 

Schorske: Very little. 

Lage: You hadn t been there long enough? 

Schorske: No. I was on the library committee. 

Lage: The Budget Committee? 

Schorske: The Budget Committee. I was not on that. That was the 

committee that Delmer Brown headed with such distinction, a 
very important committee that did faculty appointments and 
promotions. I went before them for my department, but I don t 
think I was on it. I certainly wasn t an experienced hand like 


the other Emergency Executive members in committee work, and I 
was not known on the campus. But on the other hand, the people 
who were there, in effect, involved with the politics of civil 
liberties and academic freedom would know me. That may have 
been why I had the same amount of votes in the first as in the 
second round of elections while everybody else changed all over 
the place. 

I thought it was interesting, and I say it because I think 
it affected, in a positive way, the way we executed our brief 
missiondealing with the Regents. One particularly fine man, 
Art Sherryhe was an experienced sort in California Democratic 
circles. He knew the Democratic Party establishment in 
California married to an Oakland family. Just old style 
Berkeley, before all the international cosmopolitans moved in. 
But he was invaluable; giving us legal and political advice in 
how to deal with this regent and that regent. He knew all the 
scoop and stuff about them and so on. 

So we were a very motley group. But we got on fine with 
each other, and we did so partly thanks to Martin Meyerson, the 
acting chancellor, who really worked closely with us. We also 
had our lines to the Senate. It was more important in some 
ways that we could deal with the faculty than directly dealing 
with the Regents, though that had importance at a certain 

Lage: So you had not just the role to interpret the Academic Senate 
to the Regents, you had an ongoing 

Schorske: It was more. As the Emergency Committee, we were involved with 
helping keep the place together during that time. Of course, 
keeping it together meant keeping the faculty reasonably 
together, and getting the policies oriented in such a way that 
we wouldn t cause a lot of absolutely unnecessary provocation 
of the students. That was the second problem. That was a big 
problem for me because most of the other members weren t as 
used to dealing with students. People in the professional 
schools would have a different student mix than the ones I 
would have access to. 

So there wasn t experience, and there wasn t much 
imagination either. There were these two sides of the thing, 
and in that way the connection that I had also with the 
centrists, or conservatives, whatever you want to call them, 
with the Malia and the Browns of this world who also had ties 
with students- -that was useful, as well as my ties to Reggie 
Zelnik and Stampp, and the student clientele they would be in 
touch with. I don t want to personalize this too much; it s a 


functional position derivative from being on the committee. 
There is not in any way a fixed constitutional or institutional 
clarity that 1 can give you on the committee, a short-lived 
highly provisional institution. We were the university s jury- 
rig in the storm. We had what looked like an important job at 
the time, but probably had little to do with the outcome. 

As a committee, we saw ourselves in the middle between two 
major constituencies: the Regents on the one side, and the 
students on the other. But our major responsibility was and 
had to be to the faculty, making sure it held together in 
practical pursuit of proper academic principles. 

And this seems to have sort of short-circuited the 
administration. It sounds like you were-- 

By the administration, you mean the central administration? 
You mean Clark Kerr? 

Lage: No, Strong. 

Schorske: No, Strong is gone [by January 2, 1965]. Had he not collapsed, 
there would have been no Emergency Executive Committee. Martin 
Meyerson was the acting chancellor. We worked very closely 
with him. 

Lage: So he drew you in? 

Schorske: There was not tension with him at all. On the contrary, he 

paid great attention to us, and we paid great attention to him, 
and did things together. I don t want to exaggerate that we 
had power in our hands, but he was reduced to a great deal of 
speech-making and ceremonial roles. We did that too. Like 
other Emergency Committee members, I talked around the state to 
alumni groups to convince them and the public of the justice 
and necessity of the December 8 Resolutions. What were they 
for? What did it mean that the faculty espoused the principles 
of free speech and assembly of the student movement? 

Lage: You had thought these issues through. 

Schorske: Like many others, I thought them through during the pre-FSM 
academic freedom and civil liberties episodes we have 
discussed. I had to think them through before the FSM crisis 
ever happened. 

Interpreting the University to Alumni and Regents 

Lage : 

The alumni weren t happy, as I recall, 
to them? 

How did it go, talking 


Schorske ; 


On the whole, very well. But that doesn t mean you solved the 
problems of mutual understanding. Alumni are people who have 
the deepest respect for faculty people. You come with a huge 
advantage, whatever you may think of them as prejudiced or 
something- -they remember their university as you remember it, 
for the fine lectures you had, et cetera. They don t want the 
Reds to take it over, but they don t want it to go to hell in a 
hack in some other way either. You can at least count on their 
giving you an ear. They re going to sit and listen. If they 
argue back, okay. 

I don t want to exaggerate how many audiences I faced, but 
I never felt much hostility. You d get more of it in the 
general public that you would get in an alumni audience, and 
you certainly got more of it in the Regents. The Regents had a 
strong group of conservatives already before [Governor Ronald] 
Reagan, though the bulk could be called centrists politically. 

A lot of them were Pat Brown Democrats. 

That s right. And not all of those were liberal, because Pat 
Brown appointed some very conservative southern Californians-- 
very tough. Like the fellow who was the head of the May 
Company, whom he reappointed, was an L.A. Republican. 

[Edward W. ] Carter? 

Carter, yes. 

He was a long-time regent. And [Edwin W. ] Pauley. 

Pauley, yes, my god. These were tough types. Then there were 
a few others who were strongly liberal, especially Bill 
[William M.] Roth. Ellie Heller, and-- 

[William K. ] Coblentz? 

Right. Those are the three who understood us best and to whom 
we had the easiest access. They had their problems inside the 
Regents too. Part of the problem was that Clark Kerr was in a 
very weakened position by virtue of the crisis and its 
background. While he had gotten the Communist speaker ban 
rescinded, he had taken measures against the students. He had 


a lot of responsibility and was answerable to the Regents, and 
there were things he couldn t control there either. 

Resentments toward Clark Kerr 

Lage : How did you feel about the way Kerr handled the whole 

Schorske: From the beginning, not well at all. I was among many who felt 
that calling the police was a disastrous mistake. In the end, 
I became aware that he always operated under many constraints 
that one has to recognize as his political climate. He was 
between the devil and the deep blue sea. He apparently didn t 
succeed very well in his public persona with the Berkeley 
faculty before I got here. Maybe Strong was chancellor. 

Lage: Kerr was president when you came to Berkeley. Glenn Seaborg 
was chancellor at Berkeley when you came, I believe, and then 
Strong came in 61. 

Schorske: That s right. But all I know is that Clark Kerr was not 

popular around the Berkeley campus with the faculty on the 
whole. He had his very loyal supporters: Earl Cheit was one of 
them, Jennings was another. They were both on the executive 
committee. But then there were people who felt that he was 
devious and so on. The thing I felt you could never take away 
from him was his imagination in developing the whole state 
system in which each campus would have its own special 
character. I thought it was a very unusual and masterful piece 
of work, even though he had undermined a lot of his best work 
in the interest of uniformity and centralism in administration. 

Lage: Did you think that some of the resentment towards him was kind 
of a Berkeley-first attitude? 

Schorske: Definitely. 

Lage: Fear that Berkeley would be diminished by the growth of the new 

Schorske: Yes. I was a great believer in decentralization myself. The 
very basis of Clark s achievement, to create all these 
differentiated branches, would have as its natural consequence 
--such was my way of thinking about it--the according of a 
great deal more autonomy to these individual campuses to pursue 
their individuality. To do this all under a bureaucratic 


centralism is dangerous, and when Berkeley became a danger to 
the system because it was so advanced intellectually as a 
traditional research universityit was the envy of the other 
places it was seen as too powerful. On the other hand, 
Berkeley was not supportive on the whole of the other places 
as, in my view, it should have been. 

Berkeley people snubbed the other campuses. But, then, 
there was an attempt to make equalization by holding Berkeley 
back and holding Berkeley down. So Clark Kerr s centralization 
of institutions like the statewide Academic Senate and so on, 
worked against precisely the differentiated characteristics of 
the state system that Clark himself had designed and espoused. 
Partly by circumstance, in effect, he imposed centralistic 
governing principals on top of a university system whose 
pluralism and differentiation was its glory. 

Lage: He did make efforts to decentralize the Academic Senate, and I 
have been told that Berkeley objected because they would no 
longer have control over Davis appointments and the like. 

Schorske: I don t remember that. Which doesn t mean that I m right. I 
really can t say. During the first crisis years at least, the 
statewide senate was pronouncedly anti-Berkeley. 

Lage: It s sort of off our subject. 
Schorske: It is a bit, but it s important. 

Lage: But I think the reason for some of the resentment toward Clark 
Kerr is not off our subject. 

Schorske: No it isn t, and I remember that we had to vote in his favor in 
the end when the Regents really tried to force Kerr s 
resignation and Meyerson sthey wanted to get rid of 
Meyerson. They were after us too: the Emergency Committee and 
the Berkeley faculty, simply. So we rallied to Kerr. In a 
very peculiar way, the faculty was a big power without knowing 
it, or without being effectual in exercising its power. 

Berkeley was still the strongest campus in the system 
internationally, not just nationally, and certainly in the 
state. So at one level, it had to be controlled, because its 
autonomy, such as it had, was proving disruptive to the system, 
in terms of internal turmoil. Berkeley was taking the lead, 
spurred by the students, to achieve academic freedom and full 
civil rights for the University at the same time. On the other 
hand, if you crushed down on it too hard, you destroy your 
major asset. That was a regental dilemma for the thoughtful 

regents. We had the wonderful Byrne Report on reconstructing 
the university, which Bill Roth was very involved in [See 
Chapter IV.] 

Lage: Now that s a different Byrne from the state legislative 

[Senator Hugh] Burns Committee on Un-American Activities who 
made a report on the overall crisis. 

Schorske: Yes, the Byrne report was prepared in Los Angeles. I worked 

with him [Jerome Byrne] for a while as an informal consultant. 
We could go into a lot of things: also the journalistic side-- 
the reporting on the campus "turmoil" and what we did to try to 
bring our side to the public press, which was so difficult. 
There we had real contests because as I remember it Clark Kerr 
was close to the labor and perhaps education editors of the New 
York Times who did reports on the Berkeley scene that were very 
unfavorable to the positions the Senate had taken. They 
stressed the actions, the "insubordination," but left out the 
principles at issue and the provocative actions by both the 
administration and the state. 

Lage: So this was part of the Emergency Executive Committee s role? 

Schorske: No; I don t think we tackled that as a group. I wouldn t say 

so. But our little faculty caucus tackled it--I can t remember 
whether before or after. I think it was just after. The 
little group that 1 belonged to with Henry Smith, Stampp, 
Sellers, Wolin, Zelnik, Selznick, Howard Schachman--the group 
was fluid. 

Lage: Was it named? Or was it just sort of-- 

Schorske: It didn t have a name, it was a caucus that came out of the 

pre-FSM civil libertarian concerns (including those involved in 
the loyalty oath controversy) and then got enlarged during the 
crisis into what was called the Committee of Two Hundred. We 
just came together, and with some new people. That s when 
Reggie Zelnik joined it. I think in the early stages Larry 
Levine was in it; I m not sure, the group was very elastic and 
fluid. There were a lot of historians involved, comparatively. 
That group continued as long as there was a need for an 
autonomous stand, commensurate with the positions we had taken 
that led to the resolutions of December 8. To promote and 
sustain those positions that was our cement. 

Beyond Free Speech; Filthy Speech. Sexual Liberation. Anti-War. 
Third World, and Women s Movements 

Schorske: In early 1965, the political and civil liberty issues began to 
recede in the direction of disciplinary issues, and above all, 
the filthy speech businesswhich really rocked the faculty. 

Lage: That really disturbed them? They couldn t laugh that off? 

Schorske: They couldn t. They didn t laugh the earlier political phase 
off either; that was an issue of academic and civic freedom in 
substance, but often disruption and/or insubordination in 
practice produced a new level of anxiety. The new issue, 
involving sexual expression, however, was a threat to the 
faculty s non-academic culture. 

Lage: The filthy speech incident [March 1965]? 

Schorske: Yes. To the degree that the students espoused it so that, in 
effect, sexual liberation or cultural liberationwhatever you 
want to call itbecame part of the movement- -that was 
something which the university professorate could not deal 
with. They didn t know how to deal with an assault on cultural 
mores, either personally or institutionally. So it was 
something beyond academic discipline or insubordination. I 
think it was psychological subversion. 

The filthy speech incident was probably purely accidental; 
it was not planned or plotted, I don t think. But new sexual 
freedom became so much a part of the movement. It belongs to 
the Beat, you see, that began to become the cultural currency 
of the avant-garde student left. So among the other 
hypocrisies the activists felt they were destroying was sexual 
hypocrisy. That was something which ran against the grain of 
most of their elders in some sense, and there were very few 
people who could roll with it easily. They didn t know how to 
handle it. I can t say any more about it. It was just not 
something you could exactly deal with in terms of, say, the 
coordinates of civil academic principles and mores with which 
my thinking had been developing. They didn t really have any 
place in it. What do you do with a guy who s walking around 
stark naked wasn t he?--or who is calling you a mother-fucker? 
What are you supposed to do with that? [laughter] 

Lage: Now we take it for granted, but at the time 
Schorske: No, it wasn t taken for granted. 


Lage: Did people fall by the wayside at that point? 

Schorske: I really think that people then felt--then you begin to sense 

the continua of the movement- -deregulation of sex life, women s 
lib, Third World studiesand in a way the tragedy is that some 
of these continua were to the real deep issues of the society. 
Thus the Third World movement contained in it real problems. 

Lage: Now that was 

Schorske: I know, that s another phase, but from the beginning many of the 
people who were involved in the Free Speech Movement were 
involved because they were involved in the civil rights movement, 
with its important implications for the Third World movement. 

Lage: That s right. 

Lage: I wanted to ask you more about your perceptions of the so- 
called filthy speech movement. I have often looked at it as an 
irritant the students always pressing to see where they could 
add a further insult. 

Schorske: Well, I think it had some of that. I think when it began that 
one little guy who walked alone with the "dirty word" on his 
banner--! don t think that was part of a strategy on somebody s 
part, I think that was probably one little guy, and then his 
issue was taken up. 

What I remember, and this is now a little later phase, but 
it was the moment when there was a meeting of some kind which 
Searle and Cheit, on behalf of Chancellor Heyns, tried to 
forbid in the new student union. At that moment, there was a 
police bust, and I was very opposed to this. This was another, 
I thought, terrible moment to bring in the police the second 
time. The first time it was Sproul Hall, and the second time 
it was this I mean on a major scale to arrest the leaders. 

The response of the students was then to sing the Beatles 
song, the "Yellow Submarine." Going from Joan Baez to the 
"Yellow Submarine," I thought, was a great moment of cultural 
transition, because it went from political protest to sensual 
escapism; and a certain kind of sardonic utopianism. The 

November 30, 1966--A sit-in inside the student union to protest navy 
recruiters on campus was broken up by UC and Berkeley police, assisted by 
Alameda County sheriffs. 

song s "Octopus 1 Garden" under the sea: that was fantasy land 
to which to withdraw, already a certain kind of proclamation of 
defeat and solidarization in defeat instead of some kind of 
forward-looking thrust. It expressed the totality of the 
movement s separation rather than their penetration or 

transformation of the machinery of authority, 
different thing. 

It s a totally 

Lage: And it was a turn from the interest of civil rights and civil 
libertarianism to kind of the 

Schorske: Well, yes and no becausenow I don t remember the exact 
precipitate it may have been a protest against a naval 
recruiting thing; we are also entering the high protest phase 
of the Vietnam War. The fact is that much of this thing this 
is very impressionistic American history here that you go from 
the momentum of the civil rights movement, the arrestation of 
the civil rights movement for a bit, and then the passage onto 
the Vietnam War, to this tremendous thing which, again, turned 
off a generation. This is a big deal! Certainly the educated 
part, or the educating part people who were getting an 
education were turned off in a major way. Part of the 
reaction was in culture: sexual liberation and drug culture. 

I haven t said anything about that. I was involved in the 
Vietnam War protest movement. Not all the faculty members who 
were involved in Free Speech were involved in that. 

Lage: Do you see them as separate? Or again a continuum? 

Schorske: I see them as separate and also continuous. It s possible to 

pursue one line and not the other; it is quite possible to be a 
vigorous opponent of the Vietnam War, and to go on a lecture 
circuit for that cause and never even worry about free speech 
and all these things because you re so concerned about that war 
issue. It is also possible to be so concerned about the 
university and how to reorganize the rights of the people in it 
and protect academic freedom at the same time, and never worry 
about the Vietnam War. So, why not? 

Lage: You have that whole spectrum. 

Schorske: Right. And you have another spectrum, which is the movement of 
minorities themselves, who have their own axes to grind. Or 
the women s movement, which was still too young to be a factor 
in the politics of the university crisis, but was already 
rising as an issue. One of the great things about the sexual 
issue is that it injected and gave vigor to the women s 
liberation movement. No question; there was a relation there. 


So all these thingsthey re different strands that are playing 
in and out in the crisis, currents that are interacting and 
intersecting and parting again. 

Lage: It s not a simple thing to talk about or to analyze. 

Schorske: Very, very complicated. 1 certainly don t feel 1 have ever 
understood it. [laughter] 

Lage: [laughter] We ll get to something simple, more 

straightforward: in all of thisI m looking at FSM, but it 
could pertain later toodid the tenured professors have a 
greater sense of security in taking part in these protests? 
Did the non-tenured professors ever feel that their position in 
the university was threatened if they exercised their rights of 
free speech and academic freedom? 

Schorske: I m not a good person to answer the question. I would say in 
my department, I don t think the young would have justly had 
such a view, and I doubt they did, but you should ask them. 
Irv Scheiner would be a very good informant; he has very good 
antennae for everybody s sensibilities. 

Lage: But it wasn t something foremost in your mind? 

Schorske: No, I didn t think that. I thought the university could be 
ruined by the external forces and the Regents, or by student 
excesses, but not by a junior-senior split in the faculty, or 
by intimidation of the juniors. I also thought the attempt at 
disrupting classes was a dangerous weapon, which I never 
approved of. In fact, I didn t approve of the strike. I felt 
if the students made it, we should respect it on the campus of 
the university, but I would never interrupt the classes. I 
held my classes off campus for I felt my primary responsibility 
was to all the students who wanted to learn. 

Liberating the Educational Imagination 

Schorske: And I ll tell you an interesting thing: as this crisis dragged 
on, of course, the liberation of educational imagination became 
very interesting. The thing that was so often said, that on 
this campus intellectual life was being stopped dead, was just 
totally contrary to my experience. I thought Just the 

Lage: That it was invigorating? 


Schorske: Yes, it was invigorating. Not necessarily in the right way. 
There were many people who were trying to make purely 
instrumental use of the university and harness it completely to 
their own concerns, to solve the problems that they had; that s 
always so, but now more intensely. The critique of the 
university, expressed in the student slogan, "Don t fold; 
spindle, or mutilate," was vastly exaggerated, but never mind. 
There was a basic truth in that slogan, and for me as a 
teacher, I felt it so deeply as a challenge that I thought we 
couldn t go on without addressing the university s 
impersonality toward students. 

At the worst times, when there was a real classroom 
closure, I took my classes off campus, sometimes with great 
resistance from some of my students who didn t approve of my 
doing that. I was absolutely firm about that: I would not 
stop teaching. I remember thinking- -then, when we had police 
busts (that was always the worst for me)--that, Okay, this 
university can well be destroyed. Between the hammer and the 
anvil, you can squash a human being easily: so too a 
university. I thought, If this thing spreads to other campuses 
the university as a world system for learning might collapse. 
The crisis has already been to Tokyo, Berlin is very restive, 
Columbia is getting uneasy. We ve had episodes in Chicago even 
before ours, episodes which could have broken into something 
drastic if the Chicago administration, unlike ours, hadn t been 
so intelligent and allowed people to sit for a week in the 
president s office, or more--I don t remember how longwithout 
ever calling a cop. 

Lage: They handled it. 

Schorske: They handled it well. There were places that knew how to 
handle it, and there were places that didn t, but once the 
movement rose to a certain point, such kinds of patient skill 
isolating the most radical tactical activists disappeared. 
With the university s recourse to force, you got the momentum 
of sentiment based on grievance and maltreatment. Then you 
were in trouble. But, be that as it may, suppose the academic 
system began to collapse in the American environment of moral 
rejection of the worst national policies. I m thinking the 
Vietnam War. I m thinking the civil rights movement. I m 
thinking the idealism that is behind the protest movements and 
the legitimacy of the claims. If those are not recognized by 
social authorities in the universities, and there s no approach 
to the radical pressures from within except the use of more 
force, then we academics may be on the street. 


Let me tell you an episode that reflects my state of mind 
at the time. One day I took an airplane to go to a meeting in 
the East and when I took a plane I very often had a martini. 
I was not usually a martini drinker, but when I left my 
troubles and duties behind on a trip I liked to get high on a 
martini--as I could when 30,000 feet above the ground. That 
absolutely always could be counted on to liberate my fantasies. 

On this trip, in the midst of the crisis, one of the things 
I fantasized about was: if this system of universities that has 
lasted this long in this country starts to break up, if 
Berkeley goes, how are we going to continue the vocation of 
learning? How are we going to start up again? The function 
can t stop. We ve got to continue to teach, we ve got to 
continue to learn. How are we going to do that? I got the 
idea: let s go back to the Middle Ages. 

Our universities were started by a bunch of wandering 
friars, so to speak, and I would get the like-minded who would 
be worrying this bone, and we would gather together to make 
universities as at their medieval origins. We would settle 
informally, like piano teachers settling in the same part of 
town, hanging out a shingle and saying, "Come, I ll teach you 
history, if that s what you want. Others will teach you 
physics or classics or something." 

Lage: The free university. 

Schorske: Something like that. But the university would be, in effect, 
based on the common vocation of the scholars. The idea was 
that. The free university, as it was spoken of by students, if 
I remember it, was centered on a certain idea of society. My 
idea was that you put forward an idea of a university, or that 
you continue the function of the university, but that we 
scholars would do this as something like an autonomous class, 
like Coleridge s clerisy, that is self-sustaining, that is 
lacking institutional support. It would be ghastly for 
scientists who need labs, for the humanists who need libraries, 
for all kinds of things. 

Such was the fantasy. It was also rock bottom, What is it 
we re really in business for? If the conflicting social forces 
are likely to destroy the university at this point, then we 
scholars become a vested interest group in sustaining a certain 
kind of social function which has to do with the creation, 
transmission, and development of culture controlled by agreed 
intellectual procedures of knowing. You re in a vocation; 
you re like a minister. It s half ethical and it s half 
intellectual, but it s something like that. 


Lage: It really made you think about the very basics of your place. 
Schorske: Absolutely. It drove me right down to the rock bottom. 

Lage: This was later on, I m assuming. Towards the end of the 
sixties that--? 

Schorske: I would say it would be in one of the great Vietnam protest 

periods, or possibly whenit was a very great disappointment 
to meChancellor Heyns and above all Earl Cheit and 

Lage: John Searle? 

Schorske: Searle, yes reverted to the use of police against the student 
movement . 

But that was where there was hopefulness. There was a lot 
of folly, but there were also a lot of new educational ideas, 
including in history. Wonderful things done, later dropped 
because they weren t capable of long-term institutionalization. 
But fine experiments, and above all, a very inventive thinking 
that had to do with where the scholarship now was. It wasn t 
just socially and politically dealing with students or what 
not; it was also something about how to educate a new 
generation in a humane and humanistic way. 

So those were the promising things, and then the resumption 
of street-fighting, of conflicts over real estate, like the 
People s Park and so forth 

Lage: And Governor Reagan s 

Schorske: Yes, and the tear-gasing was just the high moment of this 

reaction. That was not the fault of Chancellor Heyns 1 team of 
course. Nothing to do with it. But their use of police, 
again, and arrest of student leaders in the one case I m 
thinking about, that was a bitter blow to me. I just felt 

Lage: Were you on the team at that point? 

Schorske: Yes. 

Lage: You were in the chancellor s office? 

Schorske: I think I was still in the chancellor s office, but on a term s 
leave. I was not in on the decision. 


Lage: I think we should leave some of that, and we just have to 
resume next time, because you re tired. 

Schorske: Yes, we ve got to quit. I think I m out of gas. 



[Interview 2: May 5, 1997] II 

Some Departing Faculty: Landes, Rosovsky, and Kuhn 

Lage: We re going to pick up a few things that weren t totally 
discussed last time, more than six months ago. 

Schorske: Right. First, this number one [on the interview outline--"More 
on your chairmanship and faculty recruiting."] 

Lage: We did discuss who left the department during your period here, 
and why in some cases. You talked about Curtis and Lyon with 
some distress over the Free Speech Movement; and of course 

Schorske: --over the Kuhn and Dupree matter. 
Lage: Right. Do you recall any others? 

Schorske: I recall others who left, yes. Now, one should sunder people 
who were assistant professors and didn t get over the bar, or 
who left as juniors, from people who were here and left 
afterward. To take the latter case first would be the 

In my time, it was amazing how few losses there were. 
Aside from the ones we have mentioned, there were [David] 
Landes, Kuhn, and myself; and that s a nine-year span that I 
was here. That s all I remember, which doesn t mean there 
might not have been others. But surely in my field in European 
history, I don t think there were any others who left. Bouwsma 
departed after I did, but soon returned. 


Lage: Retaining good faculty is part of building the department; the 
other side of the coin from attracting people. 

Schorske: Right. Natalie Davis and Peter Brown- -both of whom came to 

Princetonthey were hired after I had been here, and they left 
after I had been here. 

Lage: And came to join you? 

Schorske: They came to Princeton. In this chronological order: Kuhn, 

myself, Davis, and Brown ended up in Princeton. Rosovsky and 
Landes went first to Harvard. Landes took the job at Harvard 
which I turned down. While or just after--! had been 
chairman, I was offered that job, and I refused. I was still 
very involved with Berkeley. This was before the evenements of 
64. Then after I turned Harvard down, Landes was invited and 
took the job. 

Lage: And I think other people have told me he was disturbed with the 
unrest on campus. 

Schorske: Well, this is interesting: he was not here when the student 

unrest took place; he had left. [Landes s date of separation 
was 1964.] 

Lage: He d already left? 

Schorske: He had left. So had Kuhn [left in 1964 also]. They both left 
within a year, or maybe the same year, I m not sure. That can 
be checked. After the Sproul Hall sit-ins, Landes wrote a 
letter to the New York Times very critical of Berkeley and its 
ways. Kuhn wrote an answer. 

The fact of the matter is that Kuhn had something closer to 
my view of the events, although he was not here. He didn t 
have the really deep anxiety and hostility to the student 
movement in general of many faculty members. He was not as 
conservative a man as Landes, and he came up with another, 
better defense of what was going on here that didn t mean a 
ratification of it all, but it did mean that they divided in 
their assessment. They were out of here, but they both were 

I should mention one other very important man who was in 
the department--! should have mentioned him perhaps above all-- 
that was [Henry] Rosovsky, who was an economic historian in 
both Russian and Japanese history [also in the Department of 
Economics]. A splendid scholar; and you know that he became 
ultimately the provost of Harvard, or, as I guess it was called 


first, the dean of the faculty. He had been very active 
immediately at the outbreak of troubles in the fall of 64, 
trying to intercede with Clark Kerr. He was a very moderate 
and mediating kind of person, and he didn t have any success. 
Now, that does not necessarily explain why he left here. I do 
not know. Surely there were other attractions to Harvard for 

But the fact is that, along with other colleagues, 1 
regarded him as a major loss to the university and the 
department, because he had already manifested a kind of 
selfless administrative talent. This is a little different 
from being ambitious for an administrative post. He had a 
sense of civic responsibility to assume administrative duties, 
and he did it in a moment of considerable danger to the 
university, but also with consequences for himself. He lost 
his game at that moment in which many people, myself included, 
supported him to the degree that we knew about his quiet work. 

Lage : He was interceding on behalf of some tolerance for the 

Schorske: Yes. I think what all of us felt--no, that s wrong, absolutely 
wrong. What many of us felt in the very beginning is that you 
do not deal with students with police force. You don t use 
police methods. Now, different people have different degrees 
of commitment to that principle. Mine is pretty near iron 

Lage: So that was one of your guiding- - 

Schorske: If shooting begins, you intervene with force or something like 
that; but in a general way, the quickness on the trigger is 
costly. One must get people talkingas well as you can, and 
it s not easy. When people go wild, they go wild on both 
sides. But anyway, Rosovsky was a person who had that 
patience, that you work it out, you listen to a lot of 
insults, and so on and so on, but you try not to intervene. 
We re skipping to another topic. 

Lage: I know we are, but 

Schorske: All I want to say is I think Rosovsky was a loss which had to 

do with a sense on his part that the central government of this 
university, the state level, Clark Kerr and the Regents with 
their rigidity and aggressive response to student claims and 
actions made it difficult to keep the university intact in the 
crisis. Rosovsky should be the guy to tell you, is this true 
or false? Not I. But that was my estimate of his behavior 


when I didn t know him that well; for at the time, I didn t. 
He was in economics, I believe, as well as in history, and not 
so active in our departmental councils. Delmer Brown could 
help, perhaps, with this. 

Thorough. Comparative Searches for New Faculty in History 

Lage: Did you yourself, especially as chair, get involved in 
recruiting new faculty? 

Schorske: Yes. 

Lage: Were there any particular ones you want to mention? 

Schorske: Yes, I remember my first committee. It wasn t as the chair. 
You know, in the history department, in some ways the chair 
wasn t that big a deal, or I never thought it was. We were a 
very collegially run department. There was power in the chair 
as mediator between the collegial departmental government and 
the administration. That was very important, because the chair 
would have to advise the administration as well as advise the 
department. But when it came to recruiting and things like 
that, it was all somehow intradepartmental business, conducted 

So even if you were just a member of a committee, a 
recruiting committee, an appointments committee, you were 
already in the big deal. You have to realize that when we 
appointed a person in this university--! "m not sure it s true 
today, I don t really know, so much has changed- -but the 
presumption was that the new appointee had an open road up. If 
you succeeded from the beginning of your instructorship or 
assistant professorship to the end of thatit was a six-year 
term when I was here, I thinkyou had a presumption of 
promotion. You were not even compared with other scholars in 
the field to the degree that was and is common in other quality 
universities like my present one, Princeton, where, when you 
come up for tenure, you are really put up to it, because the 
whole national roster of people at that age level in that 
discipline, that particular sub-discipline, are surveyed for 
comparative purposes. 

Promotion to tenure was always a big deal here too, but not 
so comparative. The assumption was, we are at a moment now of 
making a really big commitment. We have to make sure that the 
person we commit to is really in the top drawer of his field. 


But when you begin your junior appointments, you had the 
assumption that that would be so. 

Lage: That was different from Harvard, I ve been told. 

Schorske: Yes. From Harvard, and as far as I know, from most of the Ivy 
League schools. I would include Chicago and others. I don t 
know enough about the middle western state universities. But 
UC was very open, and one of the reasons it was open was 
because- -and here s a very positive thing about Clark Kerr--he 
was improving the quality of the university while expanding it. 
The whole state was expanding the university; it was an 
expanding state. The state had intelligent leadership, partly 
anchored in the legislature, one that prized the educational 
system. They were open to making it grow as the state s 
population grew and its wealth grew. 

Lage: It wasn t the steady state or the shrinking state that we think 
of now. 

Schorske: Right. With expansion, tensions are reduced also because you 
could assume more obligations, realize more possibilities. As 
soon as the university shrinks, then the jousting for positions 
begins. That s much more difficult. So we had that advantage 
in recruiting. 

But the people who did the recruitingand here I would 
signal again Bridenbaugh, Sontag, Stampp, Maythese were 
people who were here longer, or who were already in tenure when 
I came. I think Bridenbaugh, Stampp, and Sontag, even though 
they later parted ways, they all had a really very fine sense 
of how to avail themselves of this opportunity. 

So you asked me if I was involved; I was involved like 
everybody else, on search committees. But when we searched for 
a beginner, we searched with the seriousness that one would 
expect if we were making a tenure appointment. I don t want to 
go too far with this, but the candidate s stuff was really 
read, the stuff was seriously discussed, we made very big 
comparative searches. 

George Stocking. Robert Paxton, Werner Angress 

Schorske: One of the people I failed to mention as leaving was a man who 
left at a younger stage. That was George Stocking [at 
Berkeley, 1960-1968] in the history of anthropology. He was 


not in the history of anthropology when he came here, he was 
kind of a new social historian. He was out of the University 
of Pennsylvania. The department didn t do its shopping only in 
the very top graduate schools; Pennsylvania was second-cut, but 
a good school with lots of talent flowing through which they 
trained well. 

Stocking was a student of a man named Cochran who, if I 
remember correctly, was an Americanist interested in social 
history in a quantitative way, one of the front runners in that 
field. Stocking was already losing his interest in that kind 
of work, and very soon began to do anthropological history. 
When we hired him, if my memory is right, he was betwixt and 
between. And yet we were all taken with him. He was very 
reflective, modest, and soft-spoken. He was no big dynamo, but 
turned out to be a major historian in the field of 
anthropological history. He left here for Chicago because he 
got a double appointment in anthropology and history. 

Lage : Was he interested in the history of the discipline of 

Schorske: Yes. 

Lage: But not using anthropological techniques? 

Schorske: Not centrally. On the contrary, he was using the techniques of 
intellectual history to explore anthropology s history. He was 
another intellectual historian, as it turned out. That was not 
why he was hired or how he was hired. He was hired for 
American social history, I believe. In the end, he did almost 
all his workwell, it was a mixture of Europe and America. He 
got into German stuff, English stuff, American stuff. He 
played the field in the history of anthropology in the same way 
that Kuhn did for the history of physics. It was not a 
nationally delimited field of study for him, and that was part 
of the strength of his work. A very fine man. We loved him 
and hated to see him go. I think most would agree with me. 

Lage: Would there be a reason why he was attracted away? 

Schorske: I think yes, because we didn t have that good an anthropology 
department. For a while we had a very good crowd. They came 
from Chicago and they went back to Chicago. Their leader was 
Clifford Gertz, whom you probably know. 


Well, the anthropology department thinks they re very good. 


Schorske: They may be now. They had one or two people who were 

wonderful. They had a superb person in physical anthropology, 
Sherwood Washburn. That, however, was not what interested 
Stocking. The new fieldand his--was cultural anthropology. 
The older field, which was plowed beautifully by Washburn was 
physical anthropology. He was one of the pioneers in showing 
the socialization of animal life. 

Anyway, Stocking was right to go to Chicago. Anybody could 
see, that when he was breaking into such a field this was the 
place to have a joint appointment in history and anthropology. 
I think that was given to him. 

Lage: So that was the man who came and left. 

Schorske: Yes, he was the one. And another fine person we had here that 
left in his junior rank was Paxton. Robert Paxton [at 
Berkeley, 1961-1967], who went to SUNY [State University of New 
York] at Stony Brook, and later taught at Columbia. He s quite 
traditional in his methods. He s a political history student 
of French fascism and its antecedents in the French republic, 
but he came to focus on Vichy and did all the finest ground 
breaking work in that field. He was a shy young man. He 
wasn t, in my opinion, adequately cultivated here. I include 
myself in this indictment, though we were friendly and so were 
many. Nobody snubbed him; it s just that he wasn t appreciated 
in accordance with what 1 think turned out to be his real 
quality, which was very high intellectually and included a lot 
of political courage and moral autonomy that proved central to 
his achievement. 

One of the signs of his courage was his imperviousness to 
social pressures. Paxton was a reserve officer in the navy, 
and he joined the officers club. He was a bachelor. Once 
when he wanted to give a party for the other members of the 
department, he invited us to Treasure Island where the navy had 
an officers club. Or perhaps it was Yerba Buena Island. 
Anyway, this was at a time early in the Vietnam War when most 
of us were very much on an anti-military kick. We had no love 
for the ROTC. 

Lage: His was almost a political statement. 

Schorske: What was interesting about it was, it was and it wasn t a 

political statement. What it was, was: "I am my man. I am who 
I am. I am a naval reserve officer." He also became later on 
a very strong enemy of the Vietnam War. Never mind; at the 
time these were not his concerns. He was already working on 


the problem of Vichy, 
fascist historian. 

He was, in effect, a documented anti- 

But he had a sense of his own person, and it included being 
a naval person, and so he invited the department to his club. 
I thought it was great, but it was not politically correct. 

Lage: Did people go? 

Schorske: Sure. As far as I know. My wife and I attended. I think most 
people went. I don t know whether he invited the whole 
department; it doesn t make any difference. It s just an index 
of a certain kind of independence of convention. "I am my own 
person." He s also a great bird watcher. He bought a house. 
When he left here, he went to SUNY Stony Brook. He bought a 
house there where there s lots of marshland. He seemed 
something of a hermit at that time. I mean, not a real 
hermit, but a private man. A social man, but somewhat shy. He 
loved nature and he still does. 

Another man was Werner Angress. 
Lage: Tell me about Angress [at Berkeley, 1955-1963]. 

Schorske: Angress was not kept. Angress was somebodythis is very 

import ant --who got his degree at Berkeley. Rarely did they 
ever promote such a person. They wanted to prevent that kind 
of in-growing which had been practiced to some degree here and 
was an incubus in many universities all over the country, of 
graduate schools in particular, to promote their own as against 
getting people from elsewhere. 

Lage: And it had been very strong here earlier. 

Schorske: It had been strong. I don t know the history of it, but I have 
been told that it was strong. Then they were tending to go the 
other way. If a guy came from Berkeley, he wasn t going to get 
a job here. If he got a job here, then it was doubtful that he 
would get a promotion to tenure here. 

Lage: So Angress came out of Berkeley? 

Schorske: He came out of Berkeley. We wereand aregood friends. I 
have some prejudice in his favor as a consequence. He was a 
German refugee who never would have been a historianassuming 
that he could have escaped the Nazis even in the USA were it 
not for the G.I. Bill. He came to Wesleyan, where I taught 
before I came to Berkeley. He was my student. I was not his 
main professor at Wesleyan, but he was an able student and he 


did research for me as an undergraduate; yet he was almost my 

He started a whole new life, deciding to go to college 
after he finished with the army. He was in the 82nd Airborne, 
if that means anything to you. He was a tough fighter. He was 
a graduate student of Sontag s, and Sontag pushed very hard to 
have him promoted. But Sontag s stock had fallen very low, and 
for Sontag to promote somebody had come pretty close to the 
kiss of death, although many people liked and appreciated 
Angress . 

Whatever the case, Angress did not get through to tenure, 
and he went during my time. So I m saying Stocking- -the people 
who left at junior ranks before they got to the tenure bar, or 
when they got to the tenure barthe ones that I remember most 

Lage: Did Angress go on to do good work? 

Schorske: Oh yes; he was an effective teacher at SUNY Stony Brook. After 
a good book on communism in the early Weimar Republic, he 
subsequently became a historian of modern German Jewry, part of 
which he did out of his own biographical reminiscence as a boy 
under Nazism. His wife had been a concentration camp inmate. 
They were subsequently divorced. She has recently written a 
marvelous book in German under her maiden name, Ruth Kliiger; 
it s not in English yet. It s a memoir of her life as a child 
under the Nazis, including her life in a concentration camp. 
She taught in the German department here, and later in 
Princeton and Irvine. They were an interesting couple. 

Of the junior people who left here I thought Paxton, 
Angress, and Stocking were in some sense losses, which doesn t 
mean that I necessarily voted for them. I can t even remember 
whether all of them came up for tenure (I do remember Angress s 
case). They were all good junior people who did not go up to 

Promoting to Tenure from within the Department 

Schorske: The idea of building strength from the bottom was marvelous. 
The strategy that Stampp, Sontag, et al. tended to use was to 
bring people, many from Harvard, just when they were ripe for 
tenure but faced difficulty in their university. Always 
there s difficulty in going up the ladder. At Berkeley, one 


could go up the ladder, but at Eastern Ivy there was no 
presumption in the assistant professor s favor. 

Lage: They didn t hire with the assumption that you would go up the 

Schorske: No, they didn t. They hired with the explicit statement: you 
have to be aware you will not necessarily be able to remain 
here as a tenured person. We at Berkeley did it the other way. 
We didn t say you ll necessarily get tenure, but if you 
perform, fine. Indeed the deck was so stacked that they would 
hire people whose talent had become manifest in their first 
book. They had a first-book policy, and those first books 
often came in the middle or in the late part of their non 
tenure position. 

So the policy was built by my predecessors, or elders and 
betters, to cream the market of people who were either in less 
good universities as seen from here, with tenure, but young; 
people who had shown their academic mettle in terms of their 
publication; and people who were likely to be let out rather 
than go up when the up-or-out policy was applied in major 
places and especially Harvard. [Martin] Malia, Ruhn--these 
were Harvard up-or-out characters. Landes came from Columbia. 
I don t know what his fate would have been there. Bouwsma too 
came, I believe, as a late assistant professor from Illinois. 
All these were here when I arrived. Very rarely were people in 
history hired at tenure in Berkeley when I arrived. You asked 
me something about that question last time. 

Lage: You were hired at tenure. 
Schorske: I was hired at tenure. 
Lage: So there were few of you? 

Schorske: Yes. Hans Rosenberg was hired at tenure shortly before me. 
There may be others, but that was not the way most of the 
hiring was done. To appoint people at the end of their 
assistant professorships with a promise of early tenure was a 
great asset, in the sense that you got people on the cusp of 
their creativity. You gave them a big boost by saying if you 
come as an assistant professor, in the next year, two years, 
whatever, you will be an associate professor with tenure; or 
you come as an associate professor without tenure and you ll 
soon be a tenured person. This was good for the ego and good 
for the morale, and we had a great esprit de corps. 


[Joe] Levenson is another name I haven t mentioned here, 
but he s a person who was brought in, I believe, at non-tenure. 
Then he passed over the bar and became a tenured professor. 
Very important. We hired [Richard] Webster that way. I have a 
whole list: [Gunther] Earth. [Roger] Hahn also came from 
outside. But he went up the ladder here. Zelnik, Webster, 
Levine, Jordan, Middlekauff--all these people came, if I 
remember, in a non-tenured way, but often near tenure, where 
you could see the quality because something had been documented 
beyond the disseitation to show the quality. Zelnik came quite 
young. It took him more time because his first book wasn t 
out, I think. 

I don t have all the details. I m only trying to give you 
a pattern, and those are a few of the names that I think of. 
One person who had a Ph.D. from Berkeley who made it was John 
Heilbron. He was a rare case. He was the only case that I can 
identify- -but there may have been more, because I don t know 
what happened in some other fields like Asian or Latin American 
history. I m not sure exactly at what rank Eric Gruen, our 
very fine present Roman historian came from. But I think he 
too had an initial non-tenured appointment. 

Lage: But Heilbron is a Berkeley-- 

Schorske: Heilbron was a student of Kuhn s. Hahn came here, I think from 
outside, but he was well known to Kuhn when he was hired. Of 
course, Kuhn was building that part of the department pretty 
much, and they got good people. 

Lage: Was there a discussion about hiring a Berkeley Ph.D. when 
Heilbron was hired [in 1967]? 

Schorske: I don t remember it. In fact, his non-tenure appointment 
wouldn t have made a problem; we could have hired him. We 
wouldn t do it normally, but with a push you could do it. We 
had others. There was Sam Haber in American history, who was a 
student of Henry May s. He went through the department as a 
non-tenured person and then he made it. I don t think I was 
here when that happened, but I may have been. It wasn t close 
to my field, so I didn t notice. 

In any case, Heilbron was quickly recognized. He was in a 
very tough part of the history of science, and he was 
recognized for his quality. He was in my graduate seminar in 
historiography, and I was impressed with his fine, sharp mind. 
Incidentally, the grad students in the history of science were 
among the most interesting in my historiography seminar. 


Considerations in Hiring a Historian 

Schorske : 







I have one more thing that I would like to mention: the hiring 
of a second colonial Americanist, in which I was involved. I 
think I was chairman then, but if not, I was on the search 
committee, which was as important in the hiring processin 
fact, more important than being chairman, because that s where 
the real hunting went on. 

We found three splendid candidates all proposed by one 
single professor at Yale. That was Ed Morgan, who was one of 
the best colonial historians in the country. 

Was this to replace Bridenbaugh? 

Yes, probably it was to replace Bridenbaugh. We already had, I 
think, Winthrop Jordan, I m not sure. He too subsequently 

He did. 

Do you know where he went? 

No. [Professor Jordan was hired in 1963 and left Berkeley in 
1982, for the University of Mississippi.] 

He came from Brown, I remember that. He came with a new 
method, and he was a real pioneer in the colonial history of 
the blacks. He wrote a marvelous book called White Over Black. 
a path-breaking book. I don t ever feel he s gotten from the 
profession the credit that he should have for that particular 
piece of work. 

They re still assigning that to students, 
assigned in classes just recently. 

My daughter had it 

Oh good. Well, I m very glad to hear it. Anyway, he was a 
fine person. He was just very original. Then after 
Bridenbaugh was leaving, I guess that s when it happened. We 
went- -of course the usual combing the country; but our three 
finalists were all students of a single professor, Edmund 
Morgan at Yale. There was something about that. We had a very 
hard time making this decision. Ed Morgan had, like any great 
graduate teacher, a gift for eliciting the originality of his 
students and fortifying with discipline their viewpoints, 
however different from his own. 



Lage: The hiring of Bob Middlekauff must have been the result of this 

Schorske: Yes, he was the result. But it was such a hard decision, 
because different types of history were involved in this 
decision. Perhaps it has to do with where we were at the time: 
whether to strengthen social or cultural history. The decision 
was made for somebody between the genres: Hiddlekauff was in 
the history of Puritan education; that s what he was working on 
at the time. His first book was on this. Excellent person. 
He had the look of great solidity. But all three were just 
very interesting. 

Another who was considered was John Murrin, who ended up at 
Princetonone of the most thoughtful and wide-ranging 
historians I have ever known. The third I cannot remember the 
name of. Perhaps Ken Stampp or Henry May will know the name. 
He was a radical historian, and he wrote his thesis and his 
first bookwhich I think had not yet come out thenon the 
merchant seamen in the American Revolution. Three wonderful 
topics, three outstanding candidates. 

Lage: How would you decide? How did the group decide? 

Schorske: That was it: it was so hard. We had to make a recommendation. 
I don t remember what our report said. 

Lage: You read their work, I understand? 

Schorske: We read the works. We always had to write a report. The 

report was submitted in writing to the department, then as now, 
and all the department members were supposed to read the works 
themselves and see how they came out. We do the same thing at 
Princeton, so it isn t as if Cal were the only place where that 
went on. But I rarely remember a more difficult moment in the 
committee than trying decide to whom to give preference. We 
really did make the right choice from the point of view of 
multiple talents. For Middlekauff turned out to be first rate 
not only as an historian, but also as an administrator of the 
department and the university, and then he went on to Pasadena 
to the Huntington Library. 

Lage: Did you make judgments about what kind of a citizen of the 
community the person would be? 

Schorske: We didn t focus on that as a priority. We always focused on 

the scholarship. But then, of course, everybody had other fish 
to fry someplace, and the problemwe agreed on that was to 
somehow keep the quality of the mind central. Now, the quality 


of the mind is an elastic conception too. As for me, for 
example, really it was very important what kind of teacher this 
would be. Most people were interested in that, but some were 
willing to overlook deficiency in that area if the scholarship 
were adequate. 

Lage: Did you have them come out a give a lecture at this stage, when 
the choice was between the three of them? 

Schorske: Yes. I don t remember if that was done with the three 

colonialists, but those on the short list usually would give a 
talk, The department would assemble with graduate students, as 
I recall it, in the little Alumni House back here. I too had 
to give a talk there when I was being considered, so that 
everybody would have a chance to make a judgment. That s not 
unique to Berkeley. But yes, we did do that. Then, of course, 
some would be attracted to one candidate and some to another 
and whatnot . 

But in the end, when the department made a choice, I don t 
myself remember ever going away feeling, what a God-awful 
decision. I think we did pretty jolly well, on the whole. 
What we did was not necessarily to achieve a uniquely high 
ceiling but to establish a very high floor. I think that s 
what good procedures do, if they re sustained by an academic 
ethos of the kind I m talking about: how good a mind is this? 
If the mind is good, it can go in a lot of directions, and some 
flaws may develop which are also related to being effective in 
a department. But on the whole, if you keep the scholarly 
criterion central, it saves trouble. It provides the basis for 
a very wide tolerance; you don t get politics mixed up in it. 

I don t care what kind of politics the historian has. One 
should make one s judgment on how convincing is the way in 
which evidences are put together to make meaning and to make 
you feel, "Thus it is, thus it was, it could not be otherwise." 
You don t have to share the presuppositions of the person to 
see the work of thought and craftsmanship emergent. The 
insight that comes from a set of premises that are different 
from you own can often shake you up or shake the profession up 
when it doesn t want to be shaken. 

We re all conservatives in that sense. We don t want to be 
disturbed in our ways of making meaning. Yet good departments 
are built of different mental styles. 


Women Faculty and Crad Students, and an Aside on Raymond Sontag 

Lage : I m wondering about women. How many women came into this 
process of being considered, let alone being hired? 

Schorske: Firstly, they didn t come in to be considered. That they were 
not was not only our fault. That was the fault of the whole 
mind-set of the country. I do not Just single out the Berkeley 
department. We had one woman, Adrienne Koch. She had a hell 
of a time. She was defended by the only person who s always 
regarded as the right-winger of the department, namely, Raymond 
Sontag, about which judgment much can be said. He was right- 
wing on the Vietnam War, but he had a long history of being 
otherwise, including for the fight at Princeton whence he came 
to Berkeley, to get Jews admitted to the faculty. He s also 
charged with being anti-Semitic. Another piece, I think, of 
errant nonsense. He may have had some residual anti-Semitism 
which was so widespread in America, Protestant, Catholic, 
whateverin the Christian community- -but I-- 

Lage: You don t think it affected his judgment? 

Schorske: I think it could have. It could have affected his judgment, 
and other people may have cases. The charge is so often made 
that I can t read it out. But it was not my experience. When 
I was at Wesleyan, we hired David Abosh, one of the people whom 
he was closest to, in Japanese history. He was recommended by 
his teacher, Joe Levenson, and also equally enthusiastically by 
Sontag. He was not just Jewish, but a certain kind of 
stereotypically Brooklyn Jewish, as defined by some anti- 
Semites. He was an excellent teacher, and so he was good for 
what we wanted. He was always favored by Sontag. 

Lage: And Angress as well, you say? 

Schcrske: Angress, of course. The biggest defeat Sontag had in my time 
was over Angress s promotion. Anti-Semitism played no role 
whatsoever in the discussion. David Landes, who was himself 
Jewish, opposed the promotion. I ll never forget the line he 
used of Angress in the discussion: that he was too much 
concerned "with the care and feeding of students." 

Lage: Who said that? 

Schorske: David Landes. 

Lage: He said that about Sontag? 


Schorske: No. About Angress. And Angress was a good teacher. He was 

maybe not a world beater, but he was certainly concerned about 
the care and feeding of students. Landes was saying a true 
thing. But in his mouth, it was another way of saying he 
doesn t put enough into his scholarship, which wasn t really 
the case, as the event proved in his subsequent history. He 
went to SUNY Stony Brook, where he continued to be a productive 

Lage : And the women? 

Schorske: The women weren t in it. Adrienne Koch was the only woman in 
the department, and she had a mighty hard time. I never quite 
caught up with why, but she somehow was aligned with the Sontag 
old guard. Sontag had become, by the time I arrived, the 
leader of the remnants of the old guard, whom Brucker describes 
in his essay. 1 Sontag had been, on the one hand, a pioneer in 
bringing new people, but he also had a kind of patriarchal 
politics running which included, however it happened, Adrienne 
Koch, a woman. I don t know enough about her scholarly 
quality. She was said to be difficult to get on with. I 
didn t know her well enough to make that judgment. 

Lage: But did you think at the time, or was there awareness, "Why 
don t we have more women at the table here with us?" 

Schorske: No, no. It was a totally male-dominated profession and we 

simply didn t question it. Let s be clear about this. If we 
go shopping for faculty, either we go for finished books or 
through the old-boy network. If a woman wrote the finished 
book, you might consider her. Maybe that s how Adrienne Koch 
got here for all I know. Somebody might consider her. But 
usually, somebody else would say, "She s a young woman, she s 
going to get married, she ll never play a role. Why waste the 
time?" That real deep-seated male chauvinism was regnant in 
the entire society, except in certain professions like nursing 
and teaching. 

Lage: And probably in the encouragement of graduate students as well. 

Schorske: Well, now you re getting down to the cases. One of my great 
awakenings at Berkeley came from having graduate students, 
including women, for the first time. I hadn t had any when I 
taught at Wesleyan. But then I realized that women were 

Gene Brucker, "History at Berkeley," in History at Berkeley: A Dialog 
in Three Parts (Center for Studies in Higher Education, UC Berkeley, 1998) 


especially suited to build my field, intellectual history, when 
I was trying to get people to open up to be intellectual 
historians in any aspect of culture. Especially in the arts 
and literature, women had majored as undergraduates. They 
would come as graduate students open to using artistic 
materials in becoming historians. 

My then opinion, my pop sociology, with a male chauvinistic 
twist if you like, was that women had a choice of options: they 
could be serious historians; they had certain independence 
lacking to men, for they had an anchor to windward, because 
they could always get married if it didn t work. In that 
sense, I say with a male chauvinist twist, because my 
assumptions about a woman s career was that marriage was a big 
draw, that s where they would usually end up. And maybe it 
wasn t worth the time for them to take up a careerbut looking 
at their performance as students-- 

Lage : These are the things that you brought the cultural baggage you 
brought to your considerations? 

Schorske: The women were good because they were daring. They could and 
often did take intellectual risks more easily than men. They 
were good because they were interested in and prepared to 
consider and work on new subjects that had not been considered 
subjects, especially the artistic elements in historical life. 
The same kind of thing went on with social history with the 
great team of Stampp, Levine, Leon Litwack: bringing race and 
color into the thing. Jordan has to be added. So we had 
something going here in the American field, and 1 felt we had a 
big thing going in the intellectual history field, to which 
women could bring a special talent. But I never thought of 
women s history as a subject. 

It turned out, in my experience in seminars, including 
undergraduate seminars, the 201 s we used to-- 

Lage : 103 was the undergraduate seminar. 

Schorske: 103 s, yes. Those were established while I was here, and that 
was a great progress in teaching-through-research, offered by 
the department. But you felt that the women came into graduate 
work: there s a lot of talent being missed because they re not 
included. This was my reaction. So we certainly did not say, 
as we were later rightly compelled to say, every time you make 
an appointment you ask yourself, "Is there a woman out there?" 
But the idea dawned on me in teaching women students. It was 
the feminist movement that breathed life into the question. 


Lage: Did this happen while you were at Berkeley, or later on at 

Schorske: The mandate only came, I think, after I left. I would have to 
reconstruct it. 

Lage: The real mandate. 

Schorske: I was in on the making of that mandate for the American 
Historical Association. 1 was on the committee that was 
appointed by the Council to study the place of women in the 
history profession. How to enlarge the pool: that was the 
problem. It was a deep-running study. We compiled files, we 
asked departments for records on their graduate students: what 
was their destiny, how many women were there, what was the 
fellowship distribution? This was a big deal. We established 
a special office in the American Historical Association that 
was manned by a person who became a great friend of mine and 
later a Princeton colleague, Dorothy Ross. She s now a leading 
scholar in the history of American social science and teaches 
at Johns Hopkins . 

Lage: Was that in the seventies? 

Schorske: No; I think it was in the late sixties. It was called the 

Willie Lee Rose committee. That was the name of the chairman. 
Hannah Gray and I drafted the report. It was one of the best 
committees I was ever on. We had three women and two men; 
hard-working, and we really accomplished a lot. 

Lage: Do you think it had an impact? 

Schorske: I know it had an impact. It wouldn t have had any if the women 
hadn t stirred themselves, let me assure you. The women s 
movement was on. It was the most powerful residue of all the 
sixties uproar. Not just locally, I m talking nationally here. 
And not just in the academy, but across the board, the 
resolution grew to do something about the place of women. 

But it hadn t been in my consciousness before, nor in that 
of any of my department colleagues to do anything about this 
until we got the push from the powerful social movement. And 
then some went into this, others went into the racial minority 
problem, different people really fanned out; some became 
resistant. But the resistance was very quiet and weak, because 
we were in an era in which democracy was on the march, so doing 
something about palpable injustices was something that was 
politically correct, and it was damn hard to be politically 
incorrect. However you may not have wished to have women 


coming into the academy and so on, you didn t have the nerve to 
say it. 

So it was the conservatives who were on the defensive 
instead of the radicals as so often happens. The resistances 
could be there, but they were weakest in the academy. One 
thing has to be said for academic culture: we are somewhat 
descendants of medieval clerics. We have inherited an ethical 
role. It isn t just an intellectual ethos, as I have argued 
before; somehow we ought to be measured ethically in our 
deportment the way ministers are supposed to be: good boys, not 
have too many flings, et cetera. Well, maybe the academy s 
code has loosened up sexually, but still somewhere or other the 
social code of behavior that is imposed on the academic is 
stronger than that on most professions. 

Religious and Cultural Diversity and Prejudices, in Society and 
on Campus 

Schorske: When I came to this campus today, and my wife and I walked 

around for three quarters of an hour, just the sight of who was 
here! This is another one of David Bellinger s questions: the 
ethnic mix. The incredible result, the student racial mix, 
goes back also to very unpleasant uprisings, the campus Third 
World conflicts. All of these unruly things that were so 
feared and resisted and often rightly in terms of their 
methods let me tell you, they made major contributions to 
loosening up both the university and the society, to make it 
clear that people who had been shut out had to be taken in, 
that it had to become more inclusive. Now you walk around the 
campus--! can hardly believe my eyes. I think I had one Korean 
student and two black students in all my years at Berkeley. 
I m talking about my undergraduate course, with 150, 200 
people! They still don t come to study European history if 
they re black. I hope they will more and more. I just had 
lunch with two art historians, and they told me they are 
beginning to get people who are coming into art history now. 
More than beginning: they have quite a few Asians in European 
art history. To recruit women, of course, is not a problem in 
European art history. Once you open the sluice gates there, 
it s easy to get the recruits. History is a little harder. 
Physics is very hard, and so on. You know the roster. These 
things come slowly, but my God, when I think it s only thirty 
years, more or less, since this began; the change is Just 

Lage: It is amazing. I think people do forget that some of it grew 
out of this very unpleasant unrest. 

Schorske: Exactly. It was such a mean business for everybody at some 
point. Nevertheless, there was a real pay-off. What stayed 
was the best part of it: the work on issues of social justice. 
The demand for intellectual reform next; not that strong, but 
some for educational reform, some that also produced results. 

Changes in the topics on which people worked [referring to 
interview outline] --good results, but also sometimes terrible, 
because to me there is so much present-ism in history today. 
That s another subject. 

Lage: Do you have any reflections on divisions within the department 
that were based on class or ethnicity? Gender not really, 
because you only had the one woman. 

Schorske: Religion? 

Lage: Religionwe talked about anti-Semitism last time, and you 
talked about Catholicism. 

Schorske: I ought to begin by saying if you mean in the faculty of the 
history departmentare you talking about the faculty? 

Lage: Yes, the faculty. I m thinking about the younger generation of 
historians, the ones that Carl Bridenbaugh objected to and 
said, "Children of immigrants can t really write about American 

Schorske: If you ask, What was Carl Bridenbaugh s practice?, please check 
it out with Ken Stampp and Henry May. I can t believe that 
Carl Bridenbaugh in his class, and especially in his graduate 
classes which counted for him much more than anything else he 
did, that he would, in fact, block somebody who had the wrong 
ethnicity or the wrong class. How much he would do for gender, 
I don t know. When he made that ugly remark at the AHA- -and I 
remember it, I was there when it happened- -it was a shocker. 

Lage: It was a formal speech. 

Schorske: Yes, it was a presidential address directed, as everybody knew, 
at Oscar Handlin of Harvard University. 

Lage: It was directed at a particular person? 

Schorske: Yes, who was writing a new kind of immigrant history, who was 
involved in it by his heavy stress on ethnic immigrants. He 



Schorske : 


Schorske : 


was a pioneer in the same way that Stampp was a pioneer with 
the enslaved blacks. Handlin didn t happen to work with the 
blacks, he worked with the people who came to Ellis Island. He 
stressed the less "acceptable" ethnicsIrish, Jews, southern 
Europeans. He oddly omitted the Scandinavians. One of the 
important negative reviews of Oscar was written by a Swedish- 

Lawrence Levine has written about the impact of Bridenbaugh s 
speech on him as a young person coming into history. I was 
thinking when somebody like him or like Reggie Zelnik, who came 
from the East and an immigrant background, were they fully 
accepted into this department? 

I think they were completely accepted. I m sure they were 
accepted. I m sure that among the people who accepted them 
would have been Carl Bridenbaugh. I would be stunned if it 
were not the case. The only case I ve ever seen of Bridenbaugh 
really losing his marbles was over this Kuhn/Dupree debacle, 
which I certainly can t blame on Dupree; there was perhaps some 
racist uncertainty on the part of Bridenbaugh that blinded him 
so to this problem, or maybe he had something about Jews. But 
my God, it didn t-- 

You didn t pick it up, it sounds like. 

I couldn t pick it up. I present myself as a Jew myself. I 
never felt anything like that. I think when you re half Jewish 
as I am, your highest sensitivity is toward anti-Semitism. You 
feel more Jewish in the face of an anti-Semite than you ever 
feel otherwise. In my case, I didn t know anything about 
Judaism culturally; you have to learn as an adult what your 
heritage is. But your sensitivity is plenty high, and I never 

felt it from him or anybody else in the department, 
stunned with this idea. 

I m 

Ethnicity: Now, whether we would go for people [to hire) 
deliberately to rectify a wrong of exclusion? I do not believe 
we did. No more than for women. 

That wasn t the temper of the times. 

When I think of the enthusiasm Bridenbaugh had for bringing 
Rosenberg to the campus, for example. What for? If he were 
xenophobic, anti-Semiticwhat s Rosenberg doing here? 

So you think his speech was focused on Oscar Handlin and the 
kind of history he was writing? 


Schorske: I m not really qualified to say. I know that his animus 

against Handlin was enormous, but nobody would have allowed his 
animus to run away with him in such a crazy way if there 
weren t more to it than Just Handlin. Let me leave it at that. 
All 1 can say is that I don t think, even if he had residual 
anti-Semitism, of which there is a lot around in any gentile 
community, there is no way around it--. 

And incidentally, the reverse is also true. You ought to 
read the festschrift for Levenson as a final chapter. It s 
called The Mozartian Historian. 2 It s a beautiful festschrift. 

Anyway, Levenson wrote something on his view of 
Christianity which is savagely prejudiced, J mean, 
unbelievable. That is not the way he deported himself in the 
department. No way. We hired several Catholics with 
Levenson s support. In the American academic establishment, 
Jews were hired earlier than Catholics. Jew first, then 
Catholics, then women, then blacks; thus you go "down" the 
ladder to overcome prejudice. I m being a little too 
schematic, but nevertheless, there s something to be said for 
watching these priorities. Where does prejudice get broken 

The stronger you have a commitment that is professional, 
focusing on the quality of work, the less whatever social 
prejudice exists is able to operate successfully. 
Professionalism militates against this prejudice, which doesn t 
mean that the template of a religiously or ideologically formed 
orientation disappears from the landscape. We all remain 
prisoners of what our religious and cultural heritages are, and 
they will come into play somewhere along the line. Even in 
personal matters, we have to be really on our guard against 

But the department didn t suffer from these things except 
to the degree that the society suffered. So if I looked at the 

Lage: In asking this question, I wasn t implying that they did. I 
Just wanted you to reflect. 

Schorske: Okay. I m giving you some reflections. Let me make a general 
reflection about California. My wife is Catholic, and I m a 

Maurice Meisner and Rhoads Murphy (editors), The Mozartian Historian; 
Essays on the Works of Joseph R. Levenson (Berkeley: University of 
California Press, 1976). 


half -Jew, reared by a family as a "free thinker" and agnostic, 
as I explained to you. When we came here, especially the 
Catholic problem was still alive, very much alive in the 
academic world of America. In my graduate school class in 
Harvard, people who went into history and who were Catholic, if 
they were faithful to their creed, they had only one 
possibility of employment, which was to get to a Catholic 
institution. They could go to Notre Dame-- 

Lage: They weren t hired by the major universities? 

Schorske: No. They re weren t hired here in the humanities either, 1 
imagine. Sontag was a breakthrough, and he was hired from 
Princeton. He was a Catholic. I think he was converted while 
he was at Princeton; I m not sure about that. He was an 
Illinois boy. But the fact of the matter is that when I 
entered grad school in the 1930s Protestants and liberals had 
less of a prejudice against Jews than they had against 
Catholics. Catholics were seen as saddled with a creed, like 

Lage: Like a Communist. 

Schorske: Right, like a Communist. They had a mindset, and they were 

also seen as being under authority. So if the pope said this 
was the party line, you distort the history, or you don t come 
out with the full truth, or your vision is skewed. Of course, 
there are situations in which it s true that your vision is 
skewed, but so is the guy s who s making the accusation. So to 
break through: that is the problem. 

Lage: Now, you were saying that California was-- 

Schorske: When we came here, we were stunned by the good relations 

between Catholics and Protestants in California society as a 
whole, not just in the university. The university itself was 
very laic, this place. There had been a huge wall built by the 
university s original founders against religious intrusion into 
the academy and against political intrusion into the academy. 
That s why the Regents exist: to protect the university. It 
would have been easy to turn that around. 

During the FSM time, as during the oath time before it, it 
was very easy to turn that supposed protective wall into 
actually an invasion of the university by the right wing in the 
society. As far as I know, that never turned out to be the 
case with religion; although Bill Bouwsma, who has followed its 
place in the university, could give you another story. I hope 
he s on your interview list. 


Lage: He s on our list. We haven t gotten to him, but I think he s 

Schorske: Henry May is another good informant. These are religiously 

very sensitive people. Of course, Robert Brentano, a Catholic 
--he s another person who could talk about it. 

Social Diversity at Berkeley in the Sixties 

Schorske: I want to say one more thing about your suggested categories: 
"Reflections on divisions, based on class, ethnicity, gender, 
religion, in the history department, UC, or academia in 
general" [from the outline]. I want to say that these 
categories do not exhaust what 1 felt when I came here. These 
are contemporary categories with which David Hollinger is now 
rightly concerned: class, ethnicity, gender, religion. That s 
the name of the game today. And as far as I m concerned, it 
blocks historical reconstruction in some cases, and this is 
one. When I came to this campus, what 1 was snowed by was a 
foretaste of what I am snowed by even more today; namely, the 
variety of social subgroups. You could tell it by their 
clothing. But the variety then was within an overwhelmingly 
white students population. 

The kids from the [Central] Valley, many of whom were in 
the fraternities, in informal sports clothes; people in the 
elite, many of whom were also in some of the tonier 
fraternities and sororities dressed accordingly. Urban 
bohemians. The way people dressed in class was different. 
Some of them had jackets, some had shirts with ties, others 
none of these. Unlike the Eastern colleges I knew, there was 
no uniform style of dress. Beginning with FSM, all these 
symbols started to evaporate. 


Schorske: But I had never encountered the visible presence of multiple 
social subgroups in the classroom to such a high degree. 

Lage: You could see it in their papers? 

Schorske: I don t want to say I could identify papers sociologically by 
type, but there was something in the intellectual quality- -not 
so much quality, as timbre, the kind of tonality that was 
generated by the multiplicity of social subgroups. Ren Stampp, 
who had Wisconsin in his background, might have had all this 


experience, or David Hollinger, who has taught at Buffalo and 
Michigan. They might be able to tell you of the same thing 
there in those days. Well, David would be a little young-- 

Lage: But you came from a different-- 

Schorske: But I came from the East. So even the university from which I 
came, Wesleyan, had social lamination, but its palpable 
presence was always attenuated by a common college-boy style: 
everybody dressed alike, et cetera. Here it wasn t so. And 
the students didn t live alike. Some lived in private digs; 
some were shacked up, some were not; some were in the 
fraternity houses; some were in the dormitories. Berkeley was 
the nearest thing in America to a university in Europe, a 
Continental university, that I had ever seen. 

Most American universities are a mix between Continental 
and English models. But when it comes to housing, the English 
model prevails in the housing of students. Our colleges are 
built somewhere on the idea that a university is a community; 
somewhere, a family in loco parentis. Perhaps Cal never had 
that concept. Not in my time, and not, I think, before. 

Lage : Even less, because they didn t have the dorms. 

Schorske: Right. So this quality, of being urban and suburban and rural, 
that s Social Diversity with a capital D, even though basically 
it involved only whites. To be sure, it already included women 
in the student body. It was a rich mix. Now you can look at 
it with racial physiognomy in your field of vision, but not 

Lage: But you still had diversity. 

Schorske: The diversity was already there, and the subcultures and their 
power was one of the great interests to me in this university. 

Lage: That s very exciting. That aspect was left out of my question 
for sure. 

Thomas Kuhn: A Historian and Philosopher of Science 

Lage: Do you want to say more about Thomas Kuhn--from your knowing 
him well as a person and as an historianthat might interest 
historians of the history of science? 


Schorske: Yes. I understand. I would say the most interesting thing 

about Thomas Kuhn as an historian to me then was his struggle 
to be both a philosopher and an historian. This is oil and 
water; these do not mix. As Jacob Burckhardt said, "Philosophy 
subordinates; history coordinates." And those two forms of 
understanding do not mix well. 

Lage: Why did he want to bring them together? 

Schorske: Because science is closely tied to philosophy, yet philosophy 
can be seen as a historical phenomenon. Science, and 
especially physics, which was his major concern, is deeply 
dependent upon mathematics. Mathematics is a purely logical 
system. Even if you go over into the empirical, as you do with 
physics, you have to consider the validity of logical 
judgments, logical procedures. Kuhn was deeply aware of the 
philosophical dimension of physical science, and especially 
modern physical science. When modern philosophy was broken 
open in the early twentieth century, the great break that came 
--the next break after Hegel, let s say--came from the 
relationship between mathematics, logic, and science, but 
especially mathematics and logic. So to be a mathematical 
logician, or something like that, was deeply a part of the 
game. To understand the history of science, one must 
understand the philosophical component of science. 

[Another reason for Ruhn s focus on philosophy, I believe, 
derived from his concentration on the problem of the relation 
between innovation and demonstration in science. 
Demonstration, proof, is essential to the acceptance of a new 
insight. The insight is individual, but the system of 
demonstration is social, a matter of historical consensus. It 
is therefore influenced by history in the larger sense. Kuhn s 
great gift was to show the structural coherence of science in 
its philosophic aspect (as a system of demonstration) as 
historically discontinuous. This is hard for philosophers-- 
especially Anglo-Saxon analytic ones with their a-historical 
orientation--to accept. Tom affirmed philosophy more than ever 
as the central intellectual context of science, but insisted on 
the mutable, disjunctive character of philosophy itself, thus 
subjecting it to history. Both philosophers and scientists 
resisted Tom s structural sociology of the history of science, 
for he robbed both science and philosophy of their autonomy as 
truth-systems. Tom respected and admired philosophy, but when 
the chips were down, he saw himself as a historian first, 
--added by Professor Schorske during editing.] 

All I want to say is that there are many reasons for Tom 
Kuhn not getting on with different people in whatever 


departments, but in philosophy he had a lot of trouble at 
Berkeley. He wanted to be accepted in their ranks full-scale 
at the same time as in history, but at least he saw philosophy 
as a historical phenomenon, while history was not for him a 
philosophical one. 

Lage: So he wanted to work as a philosopher, not just as an historian 
of philosophy? 

Schorske: I think he aspired to that, but I am not sure. I believe that 
the history of science held primacy for him; he never departed 
a jot or tittle from that major priority. Science, however, is 
conceived and practiced in a philosophical frame. The 
protocols of proof, although they may change, are philosophical 
in substance. This is important to Kuhn s whole position. 
Hence historians of science must understand its philosophical 
matrix. Hence, Kuhn felt that his students should come from 
both philosophy and history. 

We shared a conviction in this, because my idea of real 
graduate teaching in intellectual history is that you have in 
your classes people whose major commitment may not even be in 
history; their major commitment may be in another field- 
whatever, the arts, science. They should learn to historicize 
their field from you, but you and other students of history 
must learn the virtues and rigor of the other discipline s 
special analytic from them. Thus you should welcome the 
others, and you should send your graduate students to study in 
seminars of the subjects which they wish to pursue as 
intellectual historians. 

For as a historian, you are never going to give the student 
the fullness of analytic training that a person needs to do any 
given area of thought. Therefore, get you to the philosophy 
department, if that s your interest. Or get you to the art 
history department. Go to the literature department. Wherever 
it is. If you want to be an intellectual historian who 
concentrates on one of these subjects, take graduate training 
in them, and take into yourself the tension between the 
analytic and the historian. 

Lage: Did the philosophy department not want to give his students-- 

Schorske: I feel not, but I have nothing but Tom Kuhn s end of the 

discussion. Tom Kuhn, as everybody knows, was a man with very 
strong emotions about his own relations with other persons and 
other fields as well. He intellectualized a lot, but he also 
had a lot of personal, emotional input. So the sense that I 
have of his rejection comes from him. I do not have it from 


the philosophers it s unimaginable to me that a person like 
Searle would have rejected Tom Kuhn. I can t believe it. Nor 
did Tom tell me that; but he certainly made clear that [Paul 
K.) Feyerabend was a tremendous thorn in his side; a 
distinguished philosopher of science. Why they didn t get on, 
I have no idea, for I have not read their public disputations. 

Lage: So that was part of his unhappiness with Berkeley? [The 

Department of Philosophy did not renew Kuhn s appointment in 
philosophy in 1961.) 

Schorske: That was part of his unhappiness. On the whole he was very 

happy with the history department. But then, when all the fuss 
came about his promotion, of course it was a great blow to him 
that here was this attempt at blocking his path, and so on. It 
shouldn t have been a great blow because he had practically the 
whole department on his side, and the administration too. 

Then came the opportunity at Princeton: to shape an 
independent program in the history and philosophy of science, 
with faculty and students from both disciplines and firm 
support in both departments. Charles Gillispie, Princeton s 
fine historian of eighteenth to nineteenth century science, 
armed with an invitation from Harvard, elicited from 
Princeton s administration support to invite Kuhn to build such 
a program with him. The temptation for Tom was overwhelmingly 
strong. And indeed, the two scholars, though profoundly 
different in personality and intellectual style, worked 
beautifully together to build a powerful program in conformity 
with Tom s ideals that had been frustrated at Berkeley. 

One of the people we didn t hire when we took Hahn was 
Jerry Geison, who s in the history of biology and has recently 
written a very interesting and controversial book about 
Pasteur. He was at Princeton, or soon to come there. 

Lage : So it was strength at Princeton that led Ruhn to leave 

Schorske: It was strength at Princeton and the willingness of the 

administration there to go to bat and make good terms. When 
people are discontent, they are very open to the generosity of 
the offers they receive. When they are very happy, they are 
more likely to find flaws in offers from outside. Tom was 
unhappy. He was unhappy in this situation: "I can t go 
further." There may also be deep emotional reasons that 
transcend these institutional ones, but I don t know them. 
Surely the move to Princeton placed severe strain on his 


Lage: But aside from why he left Berkeley, are there other things to 
note from knowing him at Princeton about the quality of his 
mind or the way he approached his work? 

Schorske: Let me tell you this. In the first place, David Bellinger s 
question about whether we recognized Kuhn s exceptional 
qualities has to do with the fact that, as he has pointed out 
in a recent Daedalus issue [Winter 1997], Ruhn is now a major 
figure. Within the last two decades of his life, Kuhn s 
influence began to travel from one field to another. Bellinger 
was one of the first to recognize it; he wrote a brilliant 
article on Kuhn and the implications of his work for history. 
On the other hand, I think he has in this other question- - 

Lage: These aren t necessarily David s questions [on the interview 
outline], I have to say. I Just took his suggestions, and 
other reflections, and came up with a few things here. 

Schorske: Oh, I see. 

Lage: I don t want to make him responsible for this line of 

Schorske: I feel that when you are working with your colleagues, you do 
not know who will turn out to be the stars. You can really 
tell who s damn good; that s not hard. You can tell the wheat 
from the chaff. But when it comes to knowing who is going to 
be a truly major figure and an overriding influence, and why 
he/she will be so, that is much more problematic. It takes 
time. Great mistakes might be made by the general public, 
because they latch onto a phrase, and then in another ten years 
the phrase may get watered downlike Kuhn s "paradigm"--and 
finally fade away, and with it the reputation of a person who 
should have a much bigger reputation than he has when he got 
popularized around a phrase. So there are these problems. My 
feeling is that, like others, I identified Kuhn as one of the 
really interesting people in the department, but not more. I 
have to add that my list of interesting minds in the department 
was pretty long; I could give you seven or eight names at 

Then, if I start to add friends of Kuhn s and mine, like 
Stanley Cavell--there were at Berkeley other people of 
exceptional originality in the cultural sciences: Joseph Kerman 
in music, for instance. I can go on with a pretty long roster 
of people of our generation, roughly. I think I was probably 
ten years older than Kuhn--but here we were in the same 
generation basically. There were a lot of wonderful people on 


this campus. If I had been asked in 1965 or 67, who s going 
to be the blockbuster in all this crowd, I don t know what I 
would have said. 

I would have said of Joseph Kerman, he s a sure thing, 
because he wrote one book that was so smashing. I assigned it 
in the course you took: Opera as Drama. 3 1 thought it was 
really a milestone in the understanding of musicology. But I 
wouldn t have been able to make the judgment about Cavell, or 
about Kuhn . About Henry May I was pretty sure, when his major 
book came out on the pre-World War I period. 

Lage: Innocence; American Innocence? 

Schorske: The End of American Innocence. 4 I thought that looked like a 
winner. There are judgments you make like that. Joseph 
Levenson s Confucian China and Its Modern Fate was another 
instance for me. 5 Then you say, "Well, on the basis of this, 
this is a really good historian. This is top-drawer stuff," or 
a good philosopher or whatever. But I couldn t do that with 
Kuhn; his path-breaking book had not yet been published, and I 
might not have recognized its revolutionary import. 6 

But I thought he was fascinating and a great interlocutor. 
He taught me more about conducting intellectual history in our 
anti-historical age than any other historian except Leonard 
Krieger. Both wrestled with the problem of doing history in 
relation to a-historical analytic models. That s my problem. 
That may have been my research problem ever since I began to 
get involved in Vienna. 

Lage: And that was something that you would feed back and forth with 

Schorske: Yes, indeed. And in which his example of wishing to be 

philosopher and historian when they don t mix in order to do 
something else, which is history of science, as I wanted to do 
history of art, history of this, history of that, and put them 

Joseph Kerman, Opera as Drama (New York: Knopf, 1956). 

*Henry F. May, The End of American Innocence: A Study of the First 
Years of Our Time. 1912-1917 (New York: Knopf, 1959). 

Moseph R. Levenson, Confucian China and Its Modern Fate: A Trilogy 
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1968). 

Thomas Kuhn, The Structure of the Scientific Revolution (Chicago: 
University of Chicago Press, 1962). 


all on a social platform. He and 1 had a somewhat different 
agenda, but 1 felt he had taken the hardest problem of all: 
hard in its ultimate substance, namely, modern physics; hard in 
the non-miscibility of philosophy and history as modes of 
thinking. So for the will to bite the bullet, I found him 
inspiring. That s all. 

Lage: Wonderful. But not the findings. Was he going to be the great man of our 
generation? I had no idea, because I had too little ability to 
understand, let alone judge, in science. 

Lage: That s asking a lot of people, to look to the future in that 

Carl Schorske, 1966. 

Photo courtesy Time magazine, 
from the cover of the April 1966 issue. 


Maintaining Freedom of Thought in a Public University 

Lage: Now, let s see. We dealt with the Free Speech Movement 
somewhat cursorily at our interview in May. I d like to 
discuss it more fully, but I don t want to go into the details 
that must be very fuzzy in your mind. I can t imagine that you 
remember week by week what happened, even with the chronology I 
sent to you. I ask here [on the interview outline]: It would 
be good to have a clearer statement of your own position. 
Well, earlier today, you made the statement about no police 
dealing with the students. That might be 

Schorske: That is a strategic position. That s very easy. But I think 

my general position came from wrestling with the problem of how 
does the republic of letters relate to the civil society. That 
was the big problem which I had not had to face in force until 
I came to Berkeley, because Berkeley had had to face it in 
force in the early fifties. I had already begun to taste it at 
Wesleyan in the McCarthy era. It was a general problem. 

When I came to Berkeley, a renewed privately funded anti- 
communist crusade was reviving the issue of the oath 
controversy on the campus in another form. Much of the public 
and the powerful conservative forces in California suspected 
that the university was "red" and so on. All the things that 
[Richard] Hofstadter and others worried about in the American 
illiberal, anti-intellectual tradition surfaced and gained new 
salience. But the problem that came to occupy me was the 
relation between the standards of the university and the 
standards of civil society: where do they meet, how do they 
mix? My positionsand I have to use the pluralrevolved 
around that. I felt that it was the responsibility of the 
university to defend to the death its own autonomy, and for 
that, the medieval university was the model. I began to think 
and talk about that , and the department too became involved in 
these issues before FSM, as I told you last time. 


So the conceptual frame with the difficulties inherent in 
maintaining, at the same time, the fact that the university is 
an institution with civic responsibility, and yet an 
institution which, for its primary pursuit, that of learning, 
oust maintain its special absolute standards, which include 
free thought and speech, the acceptance of ideas from any 
element in society no matter how hated by our world, and has to 
do that as a state university; I thought that was absolutely 
fundamental. So all my positions are always related to this. 

Opposing Centralization; The Byrne Report 

Schorske: In the course of defending the positions of principle adopted 
by the senate on December 8, 1964, the structure of the 
university also came into question. It led to an examination 
of the position of Berkeley in the University of California 
system. I became a foe, as did many people here, of the degree 
of centralization, because centralization made it hard for 
Berkeley to maintain its position in the crisis. We had people 
on the other campuses who believed with us as a general 
faculty--! don t want now to get into the divisionsand who 
believed in the cause of free speech we were defending, 
expressed in the Academic Senate positions. I m not talking 
about extreme student positions or the later Third World 
positions; I m talking about actions by the Berkeley senate, 
about our institutional self-government and on what principles. 
We had our allies, but we also had our opponents everywhere. 

Lage: On the other campuses, are you saying? 

Schorske: On the other campuses. One of the methods of the central 

administration in trying to control Berkeley s actions under 
pressure from the Regents was to employ the institutions of 
centralization. Clark Kerr s institutional plans had had two 
sides: one was the construction of new campuses, of which each 
would develop its own special character. The other was to 
develop statewide institutions that would keep a uniformity of 
standards, but also limit campus autonomy through central 

Academically, under normal conditions, it made sense to 
strengthen the other campuses, even though that meant 
containing Berkeley s resources in favor of the other campuses. 
In fact, Berkeley was primus inter pares. In the crisis, the 
other campuses felt that they should not be dragged down by 
what they saw as the misbehaviors of Berkeleyunderstood; but 


also, there was a tendency then for the others to be complicit 
with the majority of the Regents in curbing Berkeley in a way 
that Berkeley could not and would not accept. 

Lage: The action was here on the campus. 

Schorske: Right, the action, but not only that, the mentality that 

sustained the push for free speech and the right of social 
protest was here on the campus. We had already accepted into 
our body social a social mix which involved another kind of 
engagement with the society from the kind that believes that 
what we should produce are only docile people who will go out 
and occupy the positions that the elite offers them in the 
society. We had long abandoned that position, which largely 
prevailed on all the other campuses. We were already a great 
university in the most supercharged social climate in the 
nation in an urban scene where we had in our body social all 
the currents that were causing havoc throughout the nation. 

We were volatile because we were an institution so 
representative of the society of California, even if the 
proportion in which its social elements were present here was 
different from that of the state. 

Lage: Ours was volatile? 

Schorske: Yes, volatile. It was the most volatile corner of the country 
then. The most powerful, the most energetic, the most forward- 
looking, and the most explosive all at once. We were in the 
middle of it, not the other campuses. They were not. They had 
a different agenda. So I became very committed to the idea of 
decentralization, that there would be a university at Berkeley 
with the autonomy to sustain its special character. 

Lage: Did you have encounters with other figures on other campuses? 
Schorske: Yes. I was involved with Byrne. 
Lage: Jerome Byrne--? 

Schorske: Jerome Byrne in Los Angeles in 1965. I spent quite a lot of 

time working with that group, and they came up with a plan that 
was altogether to my liking. 1 

Lage: For more decentralization. 

Report on the University of California and Recommendations to the 
Special Committee of the Regents, by Jerome C. Byrne. May 7, 1965. 


Schorske: Much more decentralization. So we wanted to see the system 
loosened, each campus with its own budget not decided on or 
recommended by the central authority, but recommended by each 
campus to do its own thing. There was a lot of illusion in all 
this, no question. One of the things that a revolution does is 
it incites creativity, but at the same time, it incites 
illusions, it inspires illusions. I don t want to exempt 
myself from being prey to that. 

It also incites tremendous anxieties. I felt them, and my 
colleagues felt them right, left, and center. But in that, you 
try to steer to find the via media which will give you some 
kind of locus standi to preserve what you most value. The 
position for me was that the university must take the social 
tensions into the bosom of the university and intellectualize 
them. To do that, you have to defend your status as a 
university, that is, as an intellectual, professional affair 
about which the outer world cannot impose its religion, its 
politics, its exclusivist ideology and practices, right, left 
or center. 

Lage: Its police. 

Schorske: Then the battle s lost, when the police come. 

Lage: Did you have experiences with faculty on other campuses that 
encouraged you in this idea that the other campuses were more 

Schorske: I had it more than most faculty because I was involved 

institutionally with the Emergency Executive Committee, a very 
short-lived organization. It s amazing to me how much it s 

Lage: It was just a few months. 

Schorske: Six months. It functioned from just after December 8, 1964, 
through the [Acting Chancellor Martin] Meyerson regime until 
Roger Heyns became chancellor. Some of the people who were in 
it ended up in the Heyns administration. But never mind that. 
In the very short time that I was involved with it, we had 
first to put over with the Regents the December 8th 
Resolutions, which were a faculty-voted thing. We got from 
[President] Clark Kerr agreement for us to go to the Regents 
meeting in Los Angeles and try to do that. In that connection, 
I had some contact with faculty on other campuses, but not 
much; I didn t know many people. 


On these other campuses? 


Schorske: No. I knew few. The Emergency Executive Committee had a 

meeting with the very competent chancellor of UCLA, a medical 
doctor. I don t remember his name. 

Lage: Was it [Franklin] Murphy? 

Schorske: Murphy, sure. He was the man. A very skillful administrator 
and very adroit in this situation. He never was an overt foe 
of Berkeley, but he was ready to fish in the troubled waters. 

Lage: He was a big supporter of UCLA, however. 

Schorske: He was indeed. And what s much more important from our point 
of view--I speak now as a Berkeley personhe had much more 
representation for UCLA and its point of view in the Board of 
Regents than Berkeley had. We had very few sympathetic 
regents. One of them lives in Princeton and is now a friend of 
mine, William Roth. 

We had but four regents who were really in our corner and 
one who was occasionally sympatheticbut that was the end of 
the story. I m talking now about the senate positions in the 
crisis . 

The December 8 resolutions were our point of entry. First 
we had the meeting with the Regents, and that was successful. 
We got Clark Kerr to support us to put the December 8th 
Resolutions over so far as they concerned free speechwhat it 
was all about in the beginning- -and some other things. It was 
under that resolution that the Emergency Executive Committee 
was also created. It was short-lived, but it came at an 
important moment. 

Then came other moments which involved us with the Regents, 
though these were very rare. I don t think you want me to go 
into all that, but I do want to say what the Byrne committee 
looked like as established by the Regents. I ve learned since 
that Bill Roth had a lot to do with that, but whatever the 
reasons, the committee was charged with rethinking the whole UC 
structure. I thought, and many people here thought, we really 
needed restructuring, of which decentralization would be the 
key feature. For us, it would have had to preserve the two 
principles: professionalism within, which meant absolute 
freedom of thought, and civic responsibility without. 

Its a tricky thing to consider structure and governance 
when everybody s on fire, and the fellow on your right thinks 
you re a Maoist, and the fellow on your left thinks you re a 
fascist. I think I told you this before. 


Press Treatment of FSM 

Lage: You did. There was a lot of writing about Berkeley. I m 

thinking about Nathan Glazer s article in Commentary. Berkeley 
was on the national scene. Do you recall any of that? Or did 
people from the East that you had connection with take an avid 
interest in what was going on out here? 

Schorske: They had an interest. But they perceived little about it 
except the disruption of order, demonstrations and police 
action. I felt myself this was a media failure, and notably a 
failure of the New York Times . The Times education reporter, 
Fred Hechinger, was my idea of a really poor journalist. He 
seemed to have only one source of information: the statewide 

Lage: Ah. So he didn t give a good-- 

Schorske: He was simply giving Clark Kerr s line. I hate to keep talking 
negatively about Clark Kerr, because he did terrific things for 
this whole state, the university, and Berkeley too, for which 
he was not credited enough, especially by the faculty. 1 just 
wanted to introduce that one demurrer. But in the crisis he 
had his own views of what was possible and necessary for him, 
and they were not the same as many of us on this campus. 
Indeed, his initial rigidity compounded the problems, poured 
oil on the fire. There cannot be denial of that. 

Lage: So you don t think the Times gave the faculty s-- 

Schorske: The New York Times gave the official view. In the Los Angeles 
Times, by contrast, I learned what first-class crisis 
journalism was all about. Did I mention this to you? 

Lage: No. You mentioned that you wanted to talk some about the press 
treatment of this, so this is a good time to do that. 

Schorske: All right, this is a good time, because the Los Angeles Times 

reporter on education was the opposite end of the line from the 
New York Times. His name was William Trombley. 

Lage: Yes, William Trombley. He covered education for a long time. 2 

*0ral history with William Trombley, conducted in 1994 by Dale 
Treleven, UCLA Oral History Program, California State Archives State 
Government Oral History Program. 


Schorske : I believe he became the education editor. He came up to 

Berkeley systematically. He became a good friend of mine, and 
he also became close to people who did not see eye to eye with 
me at all on the crisis, whether in the faculty, 
administration, or the student body. Trombley earned 
everybody s trust, because he canvassed widely and took 
seriously everything that everybody said. He became a real 
purveyor of the actual positions that people were occupying. 
It s very hard to do reportage like this. It s hard for the 
reporter, it s hard for the interviewees. But he had such a 
balance in his mentality that he could in fact do that. And 
boy, did I prize him for it. It became an example of what 
really great journalism could be. 

I have agitated for him to get a Pulitzer prize in his 
time. His reporting on the Berkeley campus, if it had been 
published in the New York Times, would have created nationally 
a very different picture of our situation. I don t want to say 
it would necessarily favor the segment of opinion I was 
identified with, but the left s position and issues of 
principles would not have been swamped by the issues of order 
that occupied the right and much of the center. 

The negative publicity was a matter of deep concern to the 
faculty that espoused the free speech cause. In a crisis in 
which freedom and order were both involved, those whose basic 
concern was with orderwhich included strict adherence to 
campus regulationswere always favored over those primarily 
concerned with freedom. It was much like the civil rights 
movement, where the protest marches were "illegal," but 
fundamental to the realization of new freedoms. 

I don t think that we have mentioned the faculty groups 
that formed about this division. But we should briefly 
identify them, because the left group, favoring the free speech 
principles, tried to break through the law-and-order publicity 
on its own on one occasion. That was the group I belonged to. 


Our group started in the middle of the troubles. In a way 
we had the initiative, because when the crisis was so big in 
the fall [of 1964], the administration wasn t getting anywhere 
with its attempts to curb. Then the faculty had to form around 
something, and they formed around us, for we had the clarity of 
principle and the will to activate the senate as an 
institution. So if you look at the December 8th Resolution and 
the pamphlets that went with it, you will see that we had an 
advantage because we had thought the thing through and we knew 
who we were. 


Lage: The Committee of Two Hundred, do you remember that? 
Schorske: I remember that. 



Schorske : 

This was active before December 8th, and more on the left side. 

I remember it as a name, and I think it was on the left, and I 
probably was a participant in that. But it didn t claim my 
full-time allegiance, even though it may have spawned the small 
committee caucus that came out of that. 

You may have been the ones who wrote the December 8th 
Resolutions. I think that s what I remember. 

I ll bet you re right. I just forgot it. 
case of the way memory plays me false. 

See, this is another 

Anyway, that faculty group certainly, we had a big bloc of 
support in the faculty, although I m sure that some of the 
people who later formed or went with the more conservative 
Faculty Forum attended meetings of the Committee of Two Hundred 
in the beginning. That s probably the way it worked. 
Certainly that s the way I remember it--like Martin Malia, we 
were very close, he and I, in the beginning of the crisis, 
talking all the time. Then gradually the sides divided. So it 
went. He helped found the forum as a law-and-order group. 
That s part of the process. 

But about the publicity and the press: Henry Smith of our 
caucus had a friend who was a member of the English department, 
or perhaps the speech department, but also a Journalist close 
to the Chronicle or something. I have forgotten his name. He 
was a very fine young person. He arranged for us to actually 
have a kind of a press conference, but private. He took the 
view that, to have any real impact on the press, one must talk 
to the owners, publishers, and editors, not to reporters. 
Somehow, a group of them, including William Rnowland, the arch 
enemy of free speech in the university, agreed to meet us. We 
made no formal statement or anything like that. The aim was to 
try to tell people who were in command of the press what we 
thought really the issues were and how our thinking went, and 
to meet their views directly. 

So we met--I remember it quite vividly--in San Francisco at 
Jack s, a now-defunct, wonderful old restaurant on Sacramento 
Street. We met in a private room and had an afternoon or an 
evening, or a lunch or something, of open, free discussion with 
the press people, just trying to press through and get some 
more attention paid to the point of view of some faculty 

Schorske ; 

Schorske : 



members who sympathized with the aims of FSM, and the reasons 
behind them. We had some success with that. 

And Rnowland participated, you say? 

He did, he came to this. I m pretty sure I remember right. I 
can t guarantee it, but I think he did. There were probably 
six or eight faculty members quite randomly chosen: Reggie 
Zelnik or Ken Stampp might have been among them. You might ask 
Ken if he was there. But Henry Smith picked the people and 
arranged it all. That was just an attempt because we felt it 
[press coverage] was so very bad. We were also more than eager 
to go to alumni groups, to go to any place we were asked, and 
try to get invitations to go to the local churches, to talk 
wherever we could talk. 

To sort of counteract the press? 

Yes, yes. For the press focused essentially on the worst 
student behavior, not the issues. I used in my talks an 
example of what we thought the university should be, which was 
something some members of the history department showed during 
the big anti-communist campaign. Did I talk to you about that 
last time? 

About the forums? 

The noon lecture series on communism, 

Yes. [See Chapter II] 

And the other ACLU-type 

The communism noon lectures provided an example to me of the 
way we ought to be behaving. We didn t have a common line; we 
had different perspectives depending on where we came from and 
what part of the world we were dealing with, but we were all 
trying to test our own propositions and to confront the public 
with a different view. That s the place where it had to be 
recognized that we of the university had to reflect on the 
tensions in the society and make our own scholarly Judgments on 
them known. 

That was the hard thing to get going and very difficult to 
maintain when you were being put under stress. During the FSM 
years, the recourse to force or pressure tactics buried or 
distorted the issues. When the students would occupy a 
building or something some people were ready to ignore the 
issue of free speech and student rights to organize politically 
and simply backed police action. They felt that was warranted 



because of the misbehavior. But when the police came, or when 
Reagan sent his airplanes with gas to the campus, then the left 
would feel justified in defending the student actions. In a 
dialectic of protest and repression, the problem of order and 
principle became conflated and confused. 

In either case, yes. 

A Memorable Meeting with FSM Leaders 

Lage: You talked to the press, you talked to the Regents, you talked 
to the alums. Did you yourself meet with the student leaders 
of FSM? 

Schorske: Yes, I met a number of times with them in different contexts. 
I had some in my class, so I could talk to some of them. 

Lage: How did that work? I know some people who dealt with students 
became very frustrated with shifting positions. 

Schorske: Sure. So did I. I had no permanent commitment to many 

positions they were taking, partly because they were changing 
all the time. Only where the key factors of academic freedom 
and civil rights for university members came into play: that 
was where my loyalty was and would remain. 

I had one very unhappy experience when- -probably because I 
was a member of the Emergency Executive Committee and 
considered to be the lefty in that small group--! was invited 
by the FSM to a big meeting of leaders and their loose in-group 
of activists. 

Lage: The Steering Committee, I think they called it. 

Schorske: Yes, the Steering Committee, and who was on it, and how many of 
the friends of those on it would be at a given meeting varied. 
I was invited to a fairly large one. I had a very miserable 
evening, because I soon realized that I was sitting not to 
exchange views or to discuss, but as a scapegoat. I was put on 
the hot seat and given the hot foot. It was something between 
a revolutionary tribunal and a ritual slaying of an old bull, a 
father slaying. 

Lage: And you were the liberal member of the Emergency Executive 


Schorske: Yes, but that made no difference. For that evening, the most 
radical students set the tone. I doubt that it was planned 
that way. It emerged as the kind of group dynamic you often 
get in mass movements. It wasn t necessarily deliberate 
cruelty, but in situations like that, the worst guy, the 
boldest brother, always has the voice. 

Lage: So it was an attacking kind of thing? 

Schorske: Attacking, and the strongest weapon is the weapon of laughttr. 
If you can say something that makes the other person, the 
"guest," that penetrates his armor with wit, then the laughter 
breaks out, and the laughter consolidates the mob, the mass, in 
its own righteousness and its sense of otherness from its 
scapegoat. So I experienced that; that was unpleasant. 

In Europe too, in 1968, it was common for radical students 
to reject the professors who espoused their cause. Marcuse at 
Frankfurt, the theologian Helmut Gollwitzer in Berlin were 
pilloried even worse in this way. Many European professors 
were scarred for life by this treatment. My hosts that night 
let me feel their distance, even their crueltyoften through 
derisive laughter--but for me it was a sign that others on the 
faculty, such as Reggie Zelnik, would have to hold the lines of 
communication open to the leaders of FSM. My usefulness in 
this role, never great, was clearly at an end. 

Teaching and the Intellectual Atmosphere during FSM 

Schorske : 


In contrast to this unusual experience with the student 
activists, I have to cite marvelous experiences as a teacher in 
the sixties. Reading Ray Colvig s account, 3 I want to tell you 
that his stress on the faculty ratings and other evidences 
about the university that show it still a very vigorous 
intellectual centercertainly conforms to my experience. I 
don t know exactly what class you were in, Ann. 

I was here during that time. I was class of 
was in graduate school during the FSM. 

63, and then I 

Schorske: Were you in my course during that time or before? 

Chronology of events of the 1960s, prepared by Ray Colvig, campus 
public information officer. A copy of this chronology is in the UC 
Archives, The Bancroft Library. A summary of the chronology was sent to 
Professor Schorske before this interview session. 



Schorske : 


Schorske ; 

Schorske : 

Schorske : 

I think it was before. 

Doesn t make any difference. I can tell you that the work that 
was done in class, the atmosphere in class, to me were 
extremely stimulating. 

Even during the midst of it? 

Oh, sure. When I went off campus to teach, the engaged 
atmosphere in class never dropped. Not all people attended, 
but the people who followed me off campus were as involved with 
the work as ever. There were people who felt it was wrong for 

When you held your class off campus? 

Right. When 1 held it up in the Newman Club on College Avenue, 
or the Westminster House. 

So some people thought you shouldn t hold your class at all? 
Sure, naturally. 

Did anybody say you should hold your class on campus? 
there any students who objected to-- 


Yes, I had a few letters like that. It was not a problem for 
me, because I was giving my classes. The students were often 
asked to travel shorter distances to get to the classes that I 
was giving off campus than they would have if they had to go 
from some other part of the campus to get to where I was 
scheduled to give the class. So that was an easy thing to 
answer: "I am available, 1 insist on being available. I will 
cooperate with the strike against the policy of the university, 
but I will not stop my teaching function come hell or high 
water, because that s not what I m here for." 

Those classes also were very good. They may have been 
tense, and the students may often have colored their findings 
with the results of the intensity of the experience they were 
going through, but they were intellectually alive. So who the 
hell cares? As a teaching situation it was fine, it was just 
fine. And to get that across to the press--?? 

I shall give you one opposite piece of testimony, the worst 
personal moment I ever had in Berkeley. I used to give my grad 
seminar at home. I lived out on El Camino Real, the other side 
of the Claremont Hotel beyond Ashby Avenue. 


Schorske : 



Schorske : 

Near Tunnel Road. 

That s right. Anyway, I always had my seminar there. I 
continued that during the time the students were on strike. 
But my seminar was "off campus" as always in my home. It was 
nothing new. But one night, three members of my seminar came 
to the door, not to come in, but to tell me that they were no 
longer willing to have the seminar at home. I don t know 
whether that was during the strike or not; I m not sure. But 
it was in a moment of high hostility. 

The man who led this little group, I remember him very 
well. He was a professed Maoist. There were very few students 
who made it a creed. He wore heavy boots; he had the militant 
costumery to go with the positionanother great rarity among 
the student activists. He gave me to understand that he and 
the two students (who were actually my lecture course 
assistants) would no longer attend my seminar. 

At all? Or they didn t like it at home? 
you and your activities? 

Or did they object to 

At all. No, they did not want, in this situation, to attend my 
seminar. Whether it was because I should have been totally on 
strike, I really can t remember. I remember only the tone, the 
peremptory tone, in which this was delivered. To hold one s 
seminars at home wasn t so very normal at any time, though 
other faculty members certainly did it in my department. But I 
didn t think I deserved this kind of treatment. I had a 
record, and they knew what the record was. Also I felt that 
for them to cut their academic activity as graduate students 
meant something different from students interfering with a 
class--! had only one episode where anybody tried to stop a 
lecture, and that was quickly dispelled. The episode at home 
was uniquely painful, for I was its target as a professional, 
not as an institutional representative as I had been at the FSM 
scapegoating meeting. 

Can you remember if we re talking about the FSM time or later? 

I m pretty sure this is still FSM. All my major experiences 
with students, as with the senate, were pretty much FSM in the 
mid-sixties. You have to realize how much I was gone. 

In the later sixties. 

In the later sixties. It began almost right away. I had 
already had a leave promised to go to the Behavioral Studies 


Center for a half year, which I believe was in the spring of 
"66. So I was only in 

Lage: Then you were at Princeton "67 to 68. 

Schorske: Yes. Beginning in the fall of 67. 

Lage: You were assistant to Chancellor Heyns. 

Schorske: Very briefly. I was there for a year. 

Lage: Did you teach during that year, or were you occupied with 

Schorske: Certainly. I taught. I don t think I taught a full load, but 
I certainly taught. When I came back, in the fall of 68, the 
situation on campus was much worse than when I left in many 
ways. At one level, people were inured to the really sick side 
of things, Telegraph Avenue and so on. But it was a shock to 
return to see how far cultural deterioration had proceeded. 
Now we re talking about really sick people, Berkeley 
counterculturestudents and othersof wasted lives. 

Lage: Yes. I think we should hold off on that. We ve spent our time 
today. I think we re going to wear you out if I keep prodding 
away. Just to wind up with the FSM period, do you have any 
comments about Henry May s leadership [as department chair] 
during FSM? 

Schorske: It s odd. I don t remember it as striking one way or another. 
I remember that he chaired a large meeting of the department 
shortly after the crisis brokeyou refreshed my memory and 
then 1 recalled it where the department discussed what 
position to take, if any. He certainly chaired it pretty well. 
Henry May certainly didn t share my position; he didn t from 
the beginning. He s very nervous about radicals anyway, 
especially radical action. This goes way back, at least to our 
graduate days at Harvard. It doesn t mean that he s a right- 
winger at all; he s a true liberal. But he also is very 
nervous about anything that isn t within rather conventional 
channels. That manifested itself quickly and made him join 
with Delmer Brown and Martin Malia and others who shared his 
position, in the so-called Faculty Forum. 

I don t remember that his leadership of the department 
betrayed any political position. He didn t make politics from 
his administrative position, and he didn t prevent it. He was 
a true chairman, what the chairman of our department was 
supposed to be. I can only say that if I remember nothing 
striking, the more the credit to him for that. 



[Interview 3: May 6, 1997] it 

Charles Muscatine and the Commission on Educational Reform 

[Carroll Brentano is present during the interview, which was 
conducted at the Brentano home.) 

Lage: Yesterday I thought we really did finish up on FSM. I don t want 
to dwell on it, so if something comes to mind as we re talking, 
fine, but let s move on. 

Schorske: What are we moving onto? 

Lage: Well, your one year with Roger Heyns as assistant to the chancellor 
for educational development, but beyond that, your comments on and 
relationship with this move towards educational reform during that 
time. The Muscatine Report 1 came out, and the Tussman College 
program began, and I wondered if you had a role with either of 

Schorske: No, not really. Muscatine was one of the faculty group that was 

organized to support the aim of free speech. Muscatine came out of 
that. But, as you are probably aware, he was earlier a refugee 
from the oath controversy of the fifties, and he came to Wesleyan 
where I was teaching. Have I told you this? 

Lage: Yes, you knew him at Wesleyan. 

Schorske: He was a member of the smaller group that in the end made the 
December 8th Resolution or that moved toward that. What you 
identified as the Committee of Two Hundredand I had forgotten 
that namebut anyway, we were the little caucus that was sort of 
self-appointed . 

Lage: And was interested in civil liberties? 

Education at Berkeley: Report of the Select Committee on Education. UC 
Berkeley Academic Senate, March 1966. 






Yes, but as individuals. Only after the troubles began did we 
come together as a larger group. If you don t have the identity 
of those people, you probably should. They were it was a little 
bit floating. The historians were Kenneth Stampp, [Charles] 
Sellers, Reginald Zelnik, and myself. 1 think that s all. There 
was Howard Schachman from molecular biology. There were three 
sociologists who came and went, but they were in and out all the 
time. They were Philip Selznick, [William] Kornhauser, and Leo 
Lowenthal. Lowenthal was the most continuous member of this 
group; it lasted several years. But the others were very 
important and active, Selznick in particular. Then the political 
science person was Sheldon Wolin, who played a big role in 
reconstitution after I left Berkeley. He was also very important 
in the so-called Foote-Mayer report. 2 They were already working on 
the constitution of the Berkeley campus. Muscatine and Henry Nash 
Smith were the people in our group from the English department. 

This group lasted relatively intact until the end of 1964/65. 
I mention this because nobody had any idea of all the activities 
that were going to develop, but as it happened, various members of 
the group became engaged in the spin-off activities that followed 
from the initial FSM impulse. Muscatine was the main one who took 
up educational reform. 

How do you see these related to the push from the students? 
was it a faculty initiative? 


It was certainly not a faculty initiative. Educational 
improvement was something about which members of the faculty-- 
there were aspects of this that always bothered members of the 
faculty. One of the people who was most concerned and most active 
about it is the much-maligned Ray Sontag, who was very concerned 
about how to keep personal connection with students in the mass 
educational system. He didn t have any nostrums for this, but in 
his own teaching reached out to vast numbers of students through 
interviews, things that people didn t do. When you taught classes 
of a hundred or more-- 

You mean class office-hour types of things? 

Yes. He had office hours, and he kept a file box of the students 
to kind of refresh his mind about their personal characters and 
problems. This was often seen as somethingand it may have been 
that --that enabled him to play favorites, or that he had a taste 
for that. But the other side of it was the depth of his 
educational concern, and that was very real. He had that 

2 Caleb Foote, Henry Mayer, et al. The Culture of the University: 
Governance and Education (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, Inc., 1968). 


reputation at Princeton before he came here. When he came to a 
mass university, he refused to give it up. He didn t Just become 
a lecturer; he was a teacher. I m talking about undergraduate 
education; that was his particular thing to get worried about. 

What triggered the push for educational reform? I really feel 
it was a student thing, but it was something which 1 think Mario 
Savio, in an inspired moment, launched as an attack in some speech 
that had nothing to do with the free speech issue, but had to do 
with flouting authority on educational grounds. In that famous 
phrase: "We re just a card. Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate." 

Lage: That really took hold in the imagination of the students. 

Schorske: Not just with the students; it precipitated an issue, that the way 
the registrar s office worked, the way the whole machinery for 
enrolling in courses worked, whether you were in a large course or 
a small course, all these things. Nobody had systematically 
thought that through. That triggered the educational reform 

Then in the wake of the actual FSM business, when it began to 
get resolvedthat is, in Decemberbecause the faculty took hold 
of the question, the senate, then the other issues began to 
surface. For good or for ill, they surfaced. One of them was 
educational practice and how it would work, could something be 
done to personalize a mass institution in education? 

That led to the establishment of the Muscatine committee, the 
Committee on Educational Reform. Muscatine certainly was 
interested in this. His interests ranged beyond just the forms of 
education or even the question of intimacy between students and 
teachers. He got into questions of language, the relation between 
high and vernacular literature. He became related, in a very 
interesting wayI don t know how much he knew him personally, he 
knew him somewhat to Father Ong. Is this a name to you? 

Lage: No. 

Schorske: He s a great scholar. He was from St. Louis University. I m not 
sure what order it was; it doesn t make any difference. He was a 
scholar of the great Portuguese intellectual of the fifteenth or 
sixteenth century, very famous Ramon Lul. He s a Portuguese 
humanistic scholar. That was his specialty, but he got on to all 
kinds of extra questions. 

Lage: This Father Ong? 

Schorske: Yes. They had to do with uses of language and how our literary 

language is not necessarily exhaustive of culture, that it was the 


beginning of a critique of "pure" language from the academy, 
begins to ramify. I could go on on this-- [laughs] 


Cultural Side Issues to the Free Speech "Revolution" 

Lage: How does this relate to the educational reform? 

Schorske: Because it suggests one side of educational reform that was begun 
but not then carried very far. More was done at Stanford in 
specific classes than here to take in vernacular literature as 
part of literary substance, and to indicate how it was related to 
the literary potential, if you like, of purely low-culture 
language. Central to this discussion then came people like 
[William] Burroughs, the Naked Lunch. [Robert Pirzig s] [Zen and 
the Art of] Motorcycle Maintenance. So it was not yet into the 
question of using black English or things like that, but it was 
moving that way. 

Now, Muscatine had a feel for this. He didn t carry it very 
far himself, but this latched onto things that are very deep in 
the Catholic tradition of Father Ong. Sensitivity to local 
language is developed when you engage in missionary work. One set 
of missionaries wants to Europeanize "the native," and the other 
set wants to say, "Culture is culture, Christianity is 
Christianity. They should be brought together, but don t confuse 
the one with the other." Respect all human language and cultures. 
1 would say this point of view began to have some resonance in a 
post-Christian, multicultural world context. 

Lage: And it does seem right that it grew out of this movement in the 

Schorske: Yes, out of the cultural quests of minorities for separate 
identities, and it did grow out of the ethnic movements in 
universities, but it was something which in the end education 
needed to take account of. Now we get into the problems of 69 to 
71. I was not fully in all this, but these are things that began 
to issue from that, and where academics began to get interested in 

Lage: That almost sounds like new subjects rather than new forms of 
class instruction. 

Schorske: Yes, but it also fits with what do you think your education is 
doing? How far are you converting people into a homogeneous 
elite? How far are you making a universal culture? And how far 
are you making a pluralized culture? It took almost two decades 


for these issues to surface enough so that they acquired address 
by academic people. 

Lage: But you see roots of them in this time. 

Schorske: Yes. The frames began to be set. We re always talking about 

overlapping revolutions. As I told you before, the simple civil 
liberties thing was the beginning and the heart of the first push, 
but then it became an empowerment question for students. When the 
empowerment question came for students, that happened to coincide 
with empowerment questions that some of the students and faculty 
had already been involved in with the civil rights movement. Some 
of the professors had been involved in this, Kenneth Stampp very 
vigorously among them in the civil rights movement. Even though 
it would probably not have occurred to Kenneth Stampp to press the 
claims of black vernacular culture against American high culture, 
that is what some scholars in the departmentLarry Levins and 
Leon Litwack--did. The minority rights movements fueled the 
ethnic studies movements. 

The dissolution of conventional authority that took place 
around the liberation in a very traditional way of a rights 
revolution for free speech, when it became a rights revolution for 
civil rights, that was already a step toward radicalization. If 
in another step you then throw the body in, and you begin to 
develop the sexual aspect of liberation, the feminist aspect of 
this, there s a radiating set-- 

Lage: Very far-reaching. 

Schorske: Indeed. So the political revolution, as so often happens, begins 
to develop cultural ramifications and begins to erode structures 
of authority that have been operating with a social consensus 
unquestioned by anybody for years and years. The modes of 
deference suddenly change. What kind of clothes do you wear when 
you speak to the chancellor? 

I remember when I was working with Heyns, one evening he 
invited the FSM committee to the house to dinner. He had moved 
himself back to the campus; Chancellor Strong lived away from the 
campus. He took over the old president s house and wanted to 
reactivate it, to be a visible presence on campus. He invited 
Bettina [Aptheker] , et cetera, to meet him. He hadn t met them. 
I was asked to introduce the people. So we met, and to my 
surprise, they were all dressed up in a conventional way. I say 
to my surprise, because that was not the way they had lately 
disported themselves on the campus. Getting your tie off was the 
first step; throwing your jacket away was the second. 

Lage: For the women, the dresses went. 




Schorske : 

Men and women, right. They began to dress alike, with jeans; 
unisex came. These things happened, and then became quickly 
generalized in the culture so that even people who were not 
involved in the movement adopted the new loose style. It wasn t 
possible for me any longer to do what I mentioned to you 
yesterday, to tell who was a child of a farmer in the Valley from 
who was a child of the San Francisco elite or who was from a 
Jewish high school in Los Angeles. You couldn t tell it by the 
clothing any more because everybody began to dress alike. 

Do you remember any more about that dinner? 
between the generations went? 

How the feelings 

1 don t remember a thing. [laughter] Yes, 1 have one picture. 
It was my meeting with these students. We had agreed to meet in 
front of the steps that led up to the house. We did, and I 
remember my surprise at their dress. 1 don t think I remarked on 
it. I brought them in and introduced them. It was a perfectly 
agreeable and civilized evening. Everybody was on their good 
behaviorwhich didn t mean that twenty-four hours later that they 
wouldn t be on bad, i.e., defiant, behavior again. [laughter] 

I remember it as a truce, but I don t remember anything about 
the substance. It was a way of their saying, "We re ready to work 
with a new guy." But how far that went, and what were their 
internal discussions about, I know nothing. 

You must understand I was never really personally close to any 
of the Steering Committee except one: Martin Roysher. He was in 
my class and you might have even known him. He became very turned 
on when I worked in my course on William Morris, the English Pre- 
Raphaelites, and the Arts and Crafts Movement, with their relation 
to socialism. 

Roysher, unlike many of the student leaders, was very inclined 
to socialism. He was also the son of a professor of silver 
craftsmanship in an important school in Los Angeles for practical 
training in the crafts. So Roysher had a very high respect for 
arts and crafts, and he never knew that that had any connection 
with socialism or things like that. 

You will remember that another cultural manifestation of the 
sixties movement was a mania for arts and crafts. People got 
turned on by it; this was an alternative way of making a living 
without entering the system. This is how hippies thought they 
would set themselves up independent of the society, often on 
communes on the land, and so on. With Roysher, that crafts thing 
resonated before it became widespread. I told you yesterday how 
electric I found much of the atmosphere to be in my classes, in my 
teaching. The relation I had with Roysher and other students who, 


whatever their politics, were searching history for clues to their 
present situation, was interesting, if rarely close. 

Lage: Did you know Michael Rossman? 

Schorske: I knew Michael Rossman, though not well. He was intellectually 
quite forceful, but unlike Roysher, he had not sublimative 
capacity. The FSM was a desublimating movement on the whole. 

Lage: Now, tell me what you mean by that. 

Schorske: What I mean is that when you let aggressive instinct loose, as 
revolutionary or counter-revolutionary movements do, there is a 
way of letting it go raw so that you can shred the opponent. The 
relation between love and rape; let s put these at two poles. 
Both are based on sexual instinct, but love can be spiritualized. 
Art carries the same process further, make virtual experience out 
of instinctual impulse, and this inhibits it. Our instincts are 
most related to our animal character psychologically, and we are 
animals. But then if you begin to refine them, give them mental 
form, that s sublimation. You then have indirect feeling where 
direct impulse was the rule before. 

Lage: And this FSM group had difficulty with sublimation? 

Schorske: They were not strong sublimators, at least in their collective 
action. And the problem is-- 

Lage: [laughs] Others might describe it differently. 

Schorske: And then you have people on the faculty. In Freudian terms, they 
have strong egos and superegos, repressing the id. Many of them 
have great trouble sublimating. They may do so in the little 
corners of their lives. But mostly faculty people, they are 
rational, active in the constructive power of the intellect, 
logic, et cetera, and they are also ethical. At least it s part 
of our academic code, our convention, that we should be ethical 
people, to repress instinct. Nobody tells us to be artistic 
people, sublimators. And if you look at the history of the 
universities, it s always been a problem to get aesthetics, man s 
sublimative aspect, taken seriously at a university. 

Personal Response to Cultural Changes of the Sixties 

Lage: Let me ask you: during the sixties, do you think your ability to 
kind of stand back and apply a cultural analysis helped you deal 
with the change better? Some faculty fell by the wayside in terms 
of support for the students. 


Schorske: I did too in some ways, but I can only say I don t think that my 
capacity for aesthetic sublimation, which is high, was much of an 
obstacle to my relating to the students even though they were 
desublimating and letting their instincts speak. Other people 
were outraged by student behavior because they confused 
conventions of order with the principles of law. 

Lage: Or lack of deference to authority seemed to 

Schorske: Upset them? That s the worst side of it. The best side of the 

legal outlook is that there is regularity in civil relations, and 
that law expresses it, and so on. I was not outraged by the 
defiance of legal authority, because authority was violating 
rights. I didn t favor disorderly behavior, .but it didn t bother 
me so deeply, any more than it did in the civil rights movement or 
the anti-Vietnam War movement. 

Lage: You mentioned coming back from your leave in Princetonnow we re 
jumping way aheadand being kind of shocked by changes that 
occurred the year that you were gone. Was there a point when you 
kind of lost faith in where this revolution was going? 

Schorske: No, that concern began earlier. The rawness had always bothered 
me, as had the rigidity of the administration; I can t deny that. 
Revolution and counter revolution are a deadly team. What 
bothered me when I returned was that the visible signs of I would 
almost call it a cultural sickness had begun to manifest 
themselves. I mean the street and drug culture, the onset of 
which many of us hardly noticed. The presence then of people from 
all over the country for whom Berkeley became a mecca who had 
nothing to do here, who were idle and who engaged themselves on 
and off in the protest movement, but who began to saturate the 
whole surround of the university with a presence of decaying life 
--it was no longer informed engagement or anything like that (I 
shudder to use a word as formalistic as that), but rather they 
were just a presence looking for a peculiar kind of release from 
the normal constraints that a culture imposes. 

Lage: When did you notice that aspect taking over? Not during FSM? 

Schorske: I don t know. I told you in the interview last November, or 

whenever we were together, that the first awareness of this that 
caught to my full attention was that little guy carrying the sign 
saying "Fuck." The "filthy speech movement." 

Lage: Which occurred right on the heels of FSM. [March 3, 1965] 

Schorske: So that was very early. That was the beginning. That was only 

the beginning of a sort of revolution of the body, a return of the 
repressed. It brought a drastic shift from what had been rights 
in the area of politics and justice to new freedoms in the area of 


libidinal and instinctual life. That had its cultural 
ramifications, and some of them were very good; thus there was an 
intellectual and aesthetic side that was remarkable. I was 
interested in [Gustav] Mahler, and I ll never forget how, quite 
suddenly, Mahler became the composer for the musically sensitive 
part of the new student culture. 

Now that s a small corner, but Mahler, with his fragmented 
style, with the power of his emotions, with the whipsaw and 
whiplash kind of musical compositional technique, Mahler was a 
composer who fit a new psychological culture of feeling. 
Beethoven, who s always returning you back to terra finna and 
hammering in the diatonic system again, after his Promethean 
excursions into the unknown, isn t with it in the sense of the 
endless kaleidoscopic exfoliation of Mahler. When you had people 
wearing buttonsone of the first signs of the new freedom on 
campus were tables selling buttons on Sproul Plaza, you could get 
a button saying "Mahler Grooves." Well, this is, was sublimation 
--the cultural side of the student revolt. 

Lage: These are things that are forgotten, I think. 

Schorske: Of course they are, and these are things that weren t noticed at 
the time either. But these are all in the realm of aesthetics. 
They re not in the realm of justice, law. 

Lage: So we have that shift, and then we have the Third World issue 
coming in. 

Schorske: The Third World issue comes in, and that was another phase of the 
multi-dimensional political/cultural revolution of the sixties. 
And of course, that was a huge shift that happened in the year of 
my absence, to the best of my knowledge. I never really got 
involved with that except, when I came back, it was a presence, 
and faculty had virtually no contact with the people who were 
pressing this. There were interested faculty who wanted the cause 
pursued, but there was practically nobody--the German professor, 
Fritz Tubach was an exception- -who had contact with the people who 
led it, a new group with ties to the black radical movements 
outside the university. 

Lage: Community people? 

Schorske: Community people. Don t ask me about that; I m too ignorant. 


A Range of Responses to a Revolutionary Situation: Heyns . 
Meyerson, Searle, and the "Yellow Submarine" 

Lage: Okay. [laughs] Now, we started off talking about educational 
reform and we got way off, so let s go back. 

Schorske: I want to go back to education. I can t deal with the making of 

the Muscatine Report, for I can t remember it well, except that it 
recommended much greater flexibility in programming and the 
establishment of separate small college units within the 
university. The Strawberry Canyon College experiment issued from 
it. It had some similarity to the Tussman Experimental College 
Program which was activated before the report, I think. But it 
didn t have the rather stiff, formalistic quality that Tussman 
drew from his great mentor, Alexander Meiklejohn. Others can tell 
you about the Tussman experiment and its meaning. 

I myself favored pluralism for the solution of the mass 
university s educational problem. What I came to realize was that 
in practice, if you wanted to change the education, you would have 
to do it by resigning yourself to the introduction of a great many 
transient programs, some of which might take, some of which might 
rub off and not take but leave a legacy of some sort, while much 
of it would not last. I still believe that. In all forms of 
teaching, you cannot institutionalize it and make it permanent. 
The problem is to find a flexible relationship between slowly 
evolving disciplines and the more quickly changing student culture 
and its intellectual interests and values. 

What we had is a special problem that was a concern of mine 
when I was involved with Heyns: how to meet deep need for new 
forms of education without succumbing to ideological fashion or, 
on the faculty side, traditionalist conceptions. My wife was in a 
way more involved than I with educational innovation, because she 
was a researcher for Neil Smelser, whose name has not come up much 
here. I hope you re going to do an interview with Neil Smelser. 

Lage: I hope to. 

Schorske: He was not in my political camp, but he was a person I deeply 
respected as an intellectual educator. 

Lage: He was more moderate? 

Schorske: Yes. He didn t seem to be a political man at all as far as 

student rights were concerned. He was not concerned with the 
university s shape and structure either. He was an interesting 
sociologist, very theoretically inclined, but he didn t mix it up 
with radical, conservativethese categories meant little to him, 
as far as I could see. He was interested in the substance of 


educational improvement. And his first thing, and that was under 

Lage: He succeeded you in the post as vice chancellor for educational 


Schorske: I think so in substance, yes--but I was never a vice chancellor. 
Well, he did a lot more with it. I have to step back one second 
to say that when I was with Heyns in his first six months, you 
must understand what the degree of the problem was on the campus 
when all the new movements were bursting out all over. Reform 
efforts were in the hands of the faculty committees, or being 
agitated for by the students. Actually, three of usyou may get 
different testimony from Cheit or Searle--but I always thought the 
three of us were sort of the inner advisors to Heyns --working as a 
group to meet constantly shifting pressures. 

Lage: Heyns was new on the campus. 

Schorske: He was new on the campus. He was very good about taking advice, 
but also a very strongly defined person, much more strongly self- 
defining than Meyerson, who took advice more readily and had a 
much wider span of vision for alternatives than Heyns. 


Schorske: Heyns had a sense of justice, and strong ethical convictions. 
This man was completely on the side of righteousness, he was a 
law-type man. Meyerson was less so. Meyerson was a very 
aesthetic and cosmopolitan person, and Heyns was a very, I would 
almost say provincial, Michigander, Oak Grove Dutch. That s where 
he came from. And a philosopher-psychologist of a very scientific 
kind. He s truly Dutch Reformed: ethical but somewhat rigid. 

Lage: Was he the right man for that time, or do you think somebody more 
like Meyerson could have done more? 

Schorske: Meyerson would have been better, I think, but never mind. 

Meyerson failed later in other institutions. Who would succeed in 
that turbulent situation, God alone knows. I feel Heyns did a 
very fine job according to his lights, though I became more and 
more distant from his rigid policies. It was a good thing I left 
on sabbatical, because I would have had to leave his team for 
policy reasons. I could not go the police route. 

Lage: Do you mean bringing in the police? 

Schorske: Yes. And I could not go with the basic attitude that Heyns, Cheit 
and Searle had, that to do things strictly by the rules, you solve 
problems with rules. It s not my temperament. 


Lage : Is it John Searle s temperament? 
Schorske: Emphatically. 

Lage: He d been so much a student supporter, or at least that was the 
impression 1 had. 

Schorske: John Searle was a real student supporter in the beginning. He was 
an English angry young man. He was no nonsense. He and Tom 
Nagel, another able philosopher who went lo NYU, were the two 
angry young men of the philosophy department. There were two in 
math who were really wild men: [Stephen] Smale and somebody else. 
All of these people were extremely capable in their academic 
disciplines, let me make it very clear, but in their relations 
with the students they were, for my money, too uncritical at one 
end, and, in the case of Searle, much too repressive at the later 
end of the development. 

Lage: Did you see Searle make a switch during this period? 

Schorske: Oh, sure. It was a visible switch, from a radical stress on 
political rights to a radical stress on academic order. 

Lage: What prompted it? 

Schorske: I cannot enter that psychology. I do not know what prompted it. 
There is no man who didn t have a threshold of tolerance: "How 
much shall we live in the disorder in patience and wait it out?" 
Ken Stampp: unintelligible switch from one position to another 
with respect to student defiance of academic authority. Perhaps 
he could tolerate breaches of civility when political freedom was 
at stake, but not for cultural freedom or student power. You may 
get the reason for it, he may give it to you in his testimony. 
But to me it was unintelligible He not only switched, but he 
became a very angry man, not that he ever became a reactionary. 

Lage: I think he perceives that he stayed the same and the ground 
beneath him switched. 

Schorske: I think he could be absolutely right about that. That s what I 

mean by patience, in the face of the wider process unfolding that 
transcended the issue of free speech. Berkeley s was, in form 
though not in scale, truly a revolutionary situationand that was 
for me as an historian its great lesson. I learned more from the 
university upheaval than from all the history books I had read 
about what the dynamic of revolution is: I learned that it is a 
dynamic of dissolution and halting re-integration; and that no 
person can know from its initial form how far it will go or in 
what channels it will flow. The dissolution will go on, and on, 
and on, until slowly islands of recongelation, of some kind of 
order, will begin to emerge in a place that is not necessarily 


expected. It s not the same as a victory of repression. The 
repressive thing will gather around possibilities for order that 
emerge from the open situation. Whether they be reactionary or 
progressive, one often doesn t know. But the dissolution process 
is one that tries the soul. 

Lage : Did you discuss it with Searle? 

Schorske: With Searle, no. I happened to be away when the intervention was 
made- -the "bust" in the student unionthat led to the "Yellow 
Submarine." That was the key moment. The "Yellow Submarine" was 
the sign of a great change in direction of the student movement. 
That particular Beatles song was connected with the drug culture: 
it was connected also with a certain utopianism. The embattled 
students in the union thought of it as a moment of solidarity, 
expressing the will to resist the overwhelming force of the power 
that was brought against them. But the "Yellow Submarine" was 
also a testimony of defeat. 

Lage: And withdrawal. 

Schorske: Yes. Retreat into the psyche. It was the place where the cult of 
the body and the drug and the new culture began to really erode 
the political will. That was a testimony of defeat. 1 didn t 
read it that way at the time, but 1 see it that way now. The 
Searle /Cheit police intervention, they undertook with great 
conviction, and Heyns went along. How much was he involved? I 
was not in on the decision, so I don t know. But certainly it 
meant a lot to me in a negative way that our administration had 
now taken police action when in that situation it really was 
unnecessary, in my opinion. I wasn t here. It didn t look that 
way to me. But I knew that the fat was in the fire again. 
Berkeley went the way of confrontational force later taken by 
Harvard and Columbia; not the wise, evasive, patient road of 
Chicago, Yale, Wesleyan, and Princeton, which spared those 
institutions from so much bitterness and grief. 

Efforts to Improve Faculty-Student Dialogue 

Lage: We left Neil Smelser because these other things came up, and I 

think we have to pursue them when they do come up, but let s not 
forget him. 

Schorske: No, and you re probably going to have to reorder some of these 
remarks. They can t just be put in this wild sequence that I m 
rolling along on. 


Lage: We ll see. There is a certain order to them, and, after all, the 
events rolled along wildly as well. 

Schorske: Yes, Neil Smelser. Neil had a very good idea- -or maybe it was 

Roger Heyns--who was educationally open and fertile, by the way. 
He was a good educator. I wish he had been made president of 
Michigan, and so did a lot of people there, because he knew the 
ground well and was a pioneer in educational innovation there, 
instead of being dumped into this impossible governance situation 
at Cal. The Smelser idea was that you go around the faculty and 
you ask them what they would like for educational innovation, 
department by department. Very institutional, very legalistic, 
very formal. Not to my taste, because department-centered. It s 
all right as a starter. 

It was something, however, to encourage the departments to 
improve the relationship between faculty and students. What do 
you feel you d like to have? One percent of the budget was to be 
devoted to innovative courses, I believe. Liz, my wife, was 
Smelser s interviewer. So she went to the departments and asked 
these questions and learned about departmental difficulties in 

Lage: It d be nice if all of that was kept. Do you think it is? Do you 
think there s a record of it? 

Schorske: I ll bet it is. She wrote it all up, department by department. 

The amazing thing was that some departments already had marvelous 
social devices, and they were usually for student /faculty contact. 
It s one of the things the biologists were very good at, at least 
some of the biologists. There were different biological 
subgroups, but we had a marvelous life sciences group in the 
campus generally. Some had ongoing weekly seminars. Whether it 
was an outsider or a grad student or a professor, somebody every 
week read a paper. Whether it was bag lunch or something like 
that. This was the way to make a student a mature participant in 
the scholarly community, to socialize him or her where it counted 

Lage: Was this something instituted in response to the sixties 
pressures from students--or was this a tradition in the 

Schorske: No, I m sure that these biologistsbecause scientists are much 

better in apprenticeship than we, especially with grad students-- 
they re not so hot on the undergraduatesbut with the grad 
students they can be very good. I think some of them already had 
these things going. But Liz said the bottom line was everybody 
wanted a place to have coffee, a social space; which, of course, 
from where I sat was sheer nonsense. I believe in housing, and I 
believe in places for social intercourse, but unless it has an 


intellectual function at its center, it achieves little. The idea 
of sitting down and having coffee with a student in a department 
lounge adds nothing--! d rather be on Sproul Plaza or the what-do- 
you-call-it, the Golden Bear, cafeteria. 

Lage: The dining center. 

Schorske: Right. Or out on the street, on Telegraph in a coffee house. If 
you want a coffee, you don t need-- 

Lage: So people wanted their little spots within each department. 

Schorske: Right. That was one way to address the question. There were 

certainly other suggestions but I do not know them. But the idea 
of trying to say to the department, "What do you want?" must have 
given Smelser information about how the departments were 
responding officially to what would bring students and faculty 

Well, let me go to my own educational side. 1 really wrestled 
with this bone myself because 1 had a large class. 

Lage: You mentioned in an article you ve written, which I have here 

somewhere, an experience you had here and a student s comment. Do 
you want to tell about that? 

Schorske: You d like it for this record? 

Lage: Yes, if it was an important experience. 

Schorske: It was important for me in trying to address the generation gap in 
teaching intellectual history. It was the end of, I think it was 
actually the second term of the year 1964-65. We were still then 
on the semester system, I believe. But whatever it was, I always 
taught through the year when I was on deck, so I can t fix the 
term. Anyhow, the end of the term came, and I got the usual 
applause that students give you. I walked out of the class with a 
lot of students still around, and behind me this girl said--and I 
remember a girl; I don t remember her name, but she was an 
interesting woman, one of my Los Angeles high school types saying 
[scornfully]: "And they call that a dialogue." 

That was the line she used to express her contempt of the 
system of lecturing, and of my lecturingthat this was not 
dialogue. There was no exchange between students and faculty. Of 
course, my experience of that course in particular, and this is 
always my number-one happy memory of my Berkeley teaching 
experience, was that people did intervene in a large lecture 
class. Even if they didn t intervene often, they brought me 
after-class contributions to my own knowledge that were enormous. 
That could come from any quarter. 


Lage: You mean you found that students did respond to lectures? 

Schorske: They did. They responded not only to lectures, but in them. I 
believe in lecturing. I believe it is not only an efficient way 
of teaching large numbers, but also brings out a certain aspect of 
some instructors flair for the oral form, who are ham actors in 
some way. The less "ham" the better. But certainly the lecture 
is a style of instruction that can be very persuasive. 

Lage: And stimulating. 

Schorske: Stimulating. So, good. I m in favor of lecturing, but not 
exclusively, or at the expense of the personal intellectual 
exchange. When my student said these things about the dialogue, I 
felt a deep-cutting truth. She was probably one who didn t like 
lectures. Or she might have been turned on to say so by the going 
FSM critique that this was a factory; that was a common indictment 
of Berkeley. 

Then the question was, how do you get a dialogue? That was 
what interested me most in the sociological situation where the 
culture of the students was drifting away from accepting, as a 
valid experience, the very culture of their elders, of the 
teachers. So how do you bridge? They have new questions. 
They re not my questions, they re their questions. How do you in 
that situation create a dialoguenot just between teacher and 
student, but between generations who are ceasing to communicate 
with each other? Whatever his/her personal respect or affinity 
for the faculty member- -the student didn t have to be a member of 
FSM or anything else to experience the generation gap. It s an 
eternal problem, but in the crisis it grew wider and made the need 
for more personal instruction more acute. 

So my effort then was to devise a form of more personal 
intellectual engagement within the frame of the larger lecture 
system to address that. I was not alone; other faculty members 
were doing it in their own ways. The method that I founddo you 
want this? 

Lage: Yes, I do. This is the kind of thing that s interesting, what 
developed educationally from this era. 

Schorske: My plan centered on teaching assistants who would run sections 
with far more independence from the professor s lectures and 
reading than was traditionally allowed. For that I needed support 
from the administration. 


You hadn t had that before? 


Schorske: I didn t have a section system. Like other lectures in history s 
upper-division courses, I just had readers. I think that some 
readers held some kind of informal discussion group, I m not sure. 
But now I had a system where the graduate student TAs [teaching 
assistants] would devise their own subjects for consideration by 
the students that were related to the structure of my course, but 
were not locked in to my lectures and readings necessarily. I 
called them satellite seminars. 

The graduate students had to be much more numerous than the 
readers because they had to teach sections, so they had to get 
paidthat s where support came in. They would write a little 
catalogue notice of about fifty to seventy-five words of what 
their topic would be. I gave this course with different figures 
considered, different intellectuals in philosophy or whatever, the 
arts. The TAs could make up any theme they wished to trace 
through those thinkers. 

One theme was, I remember it well, the idea of women in 
nineteenth century thought. Another was "the costs of freedom." 
These topics were not my ideas; graduate students thought them up. 
They were to be explored in the thinkers or artists (Burke, 
Nietzsche, or whomever) taken up in my lectures. The TA could 
assign readings from those authors which illuminated his topic 
rather than the exact texts on my reading list. Thus the 
satellite seminars followed my course lectures, but on different, 
parallel tracks. 

Lage: How closely did you supervise the teaching assistants? 

Schorske: Only in the beginning. I supervised them only to a degreewe 
certainly had a detailed discussionwhat do you want to do? I 
would try to help them flesh out their problem, but it was not my 
problem any more. The only obligation they had was behind this, 
there were the lectures; they were supposed to come to these 
lectures. The students too, though 1 never cared about 
attendance. The notion was, 1 gave my history course, and they 
took a loosely affiliated course that used my lecture as a 
background- -one that would be much more intensive on a particular 
question than mine. 

Lage: How close was their spirit to yours? 

Schorske: At the time I thought it was wonderful. But I don t really know, 
because I didn t police them. I did occasionally look at the 
papers that came out of it. 1 had hints of the results from the 
student end. Even TAs who were not particularly gifted, when they 
ran a para-course of their own, could become very effective 
teachers. As an added social feature, many met their students not 
on campus, but in their own digs. For the undergraduates to go to 
the graduate student s own quarters and have beer and meet in the 



evening, or whatever they did, had great appeal. As for me, I 
learned from the TAs 1 problems. They posed new questions. One of 
the graduate students had kind of gotten into Foucault, and he 
started to develop some kind of Foucaultian epistemic system of 
analysis in his course. It was all new to me, and very 

Which is very early for all of this, even for considering the idea 
of women. 

Schorske: Yes. The women s question was hardly up. It was a grad student 
of Henry May s, Jacqueline [Reinier] who had this idea. She was 
an excellent person. I think she ended up teaching American 
Studies someplace. [Early American History at CSU Sacramento] 

We issued a mimeographed catalogue for the course, containing 
the topics and descriptions of the course seminars that the 
teaching assistants were going to give. The students could choose 
among these and among the TAs if they knew them. And if they 
didn t want to study in any of the seminars, fine; there was the 
regular course, with exams that took the form of papers. Thus, 
you could just be in the old-fashioned lecture course. 

Well, this method really worked for me as long as I was 
teaching at Berkeley. I think for the graduate students it was a 
maturing experience. But now, down to the theoretical bottom line 
in terms of instruction, the important point was that the graduate 
student had an intermediate position in two ways. Firstly, he or 
she was part of a new culture with new issues. He had questions 
on his mind which were on the minds of the undergraduates and 
surely not on mine. Secondly, the graduate student was a 
preprofessional. He expected to be an historian of whatever he 
was going to be, a scholar of some kind. In that sense, he was 
with me learning my craft of analysis. He really had a stake in 
scholarly procedure and discipline such as an undergraduate does 
not have. 

The undergraduate doesn t have a career stake in the learning 
process. This graduate student always does. Whether he wants to 
take it up or not is another question. Most of them do, so they 
were really interested in intellectual history and how to learn 
its stuff and how to analyze cultural documents. 

Lage: They might have been the greatest beneficiaries of all this. 

Schorske: I hope so. I think they were. But the combinationthe third 
circle is the widest, the social, to create an atmosphere of 
learning in which the imposed authority of the professor is 


Back to the young lady who followed me out of the lecture 
room: you can really call this restructured course a dialogue. 
And the teaching assistant was conducting it in his/her rooms, or 
some coffee house, or wherever they re getting their results the 
way they wish. If the students are really getting into a dialogue 
situation that s important, because they have made the choice to. 
Every time you make a choice, you make commitment. You can t 
avoid it. 

So everybody s commitment is raised. Mine is raised to let go 
of some of my authority. If you re in authority, you have to 
learn now that you will do better by not trying to press your 
authority; loosen it. Which was my attitude toward this whole 
affair, the revolution in general. Adapt to it in such a way that 
the values that are central to your own being and your 
professional self-definition or ethos are activated for a new 
generation with new techniques of social functioning in the 
educational setting. So for me it was just wonderful. 

Considering Corresponding Changes in Catholicism 

Schorske: And I ll tell you something else. This was the era of Pope John 
XXIII, or whatever he was--I always mix the numbers up; Carroll 
can correct us. [speaks to Carroll] Was he twenty-two or twenty- 
three? [Carroll replies, "Twenty- three, definitely."] John 
XXIII: was he in Avignon or one of those places? [Carroll 
replies, "One of those places."] [laughter] 

Anyway, I was a refugee from the campus strike [Newman 
Center], sometimes teaching, I think I told you, in the Catholic 
church up on College Avenue. 

Lage: During the disturbances. 

Schorske: Yes, one of those moratoriums or something. My wife was a 
communicant there. I am not religious. But we were both 
interested in what was happening to the church. Some thought it 
was falling apart, and some thought it was being rejuvenated. 
This is what always happens in revolutionary situations; you don t 
know whether you re involved in decadence or in a great springtime 
of life, renewal. That was what was happening in the university 
at Berkeley. The renewers and the decayers, those two visions 
produced the same sort of confusion as to where things were going 
in the church as in the university. 

I thus became very interested in the reforms that were 
happening in the Catholic Church. They involved decentralization 
and redefinition of authority. (We ve discussed it for the 


university). I thought it was extraordinary. The Catholic 
reformers were trying to decentralize the church, to put much more 
of what had been papal power in the hands of the clergy, 
especially the bishops, who were being organized in different 
national groups. Playing down the Pope and the Vatican 
bureaucracy that had always run things from Rome seemed like 
paring down the central power of the Regents, president and the 
state-wide headquarters in University Hall. This was coupled with 
a new movement for participation by the laity in the church, which 
could be compared to the movement for student participation in the 

Decentralization was, in varying degrees, a psychological 
threat to everybody in the church. The people who didn t have 
authority had to learn that they would have to take it up 
responsibly. They would have to protect the values of the church 
universal in local settings in which new things were going to come 
up, and were already coming up, that involved the weakening of 
their authority too, because they couldn t rely on headquarters 
anymore, et cetera. So that s just the political and 
institutional side of a spiritual change. 

But take the liturgical side. That was so intriguing to me. 
I got interested in it because I ve always been interested in 
civic ritual and religious ritual, the relation of theater and 
religion. All these questions play into my view of history. Now 
it seemed relevant to teaching. Vatican II reversed the 
historical trend in the church that was increasingly centralistic 
and authoritarian since the Reformation. The high altar in the 
Counter-Reformation got higher and higher, and everything became 
more centralized. The priest had his back to the congregation and 
addressed God on their behalf, but the people did not contribute. 
They just sat there. Remember my student: "and they call that a 
dialogue?" Vatican II turned this around literally. It made the 
priest face the people across the altar, which was a simple table, 
ideally at the center of the church, not at one end of it. Priest 
and people should be co-celebrants. They re all sitting at the 
same table. Its a reproduction of the communion at the table in 
the Last Supper. 

Lage: This was going on at the same time? 

Schorske: Vatican II ran from 1960 to 1965. 

Lage: That s a nice correspondence with the Berkeley crisis. 

Schorske: The aggiornamento was felt in Berkeley, because the university 

parish (Newman Center) was run by Paulist fathers, who were both 
progressive and very smart. Even in the architecture of their new 
building they began to reflect the new ideas of the Church and its 
democratized ritual. It was one of the first churches that didn t 


focus on the high altar; it is built so that everybody was brought 
to the altar as a table instead of being separated from a high 
altar by a priest. 

It doesn t sound like anything that has anything to do with us 
in the university. But then to go back to the Reformation and see 
what happened. The Protestants made the service revolve around 
the Word rather than the ritual sacrifice of Christ, so the 
preacher is the big thing. The authority of the Word, the books, 
is interpreted for the people by the minister. I don t want to 
get too much into religious history, but the fact is that even 
church architecture reflects it. If you go to a Presbyterian 
church, a traditional one, you will find that there is a row of 
seats for the presbyters between what remains of the altar and the 
congregation. Milton said, "New presbyters are old priests writ 
small," because he was even more low church than the Presbyterians 
and didn t believe in having those elders (presbyters) who are 
always overlooking the minister from the front row of seats. The 
center is not so much an altar as a lectern. The Word delivered 
by the minister who is its interpreter substitutes for the old- 
style Catholic priest, who officiates at a sacrifice with his back 
to his flock. The minister, unlike the priest, always looks at 
his audience: but he s the authority still. There s no dialogue 
there either. 

So I felt this was lesson number two for the university 
teacher: start loosening up your authority as a professor 
delivering the word. The primacy of lecturing (preaching) in 
teaching is ceasing to be, well, as the Germans say, the only road 
to salvation, "das alleinseligmachende Mittel." "This is not the 
way you can go." 

Lage: So these are things that you were thinking at the time? 

Schorske: I did. And I brought them directly to bear. I did not fool 
around. I told my classes about this: that the return to 
participatory community in Vatican II--in which ecumenically 
minded Protestants were also interestedhad some relevance for 
the university. As I taught the nineteenth century, I could point 
to the Oxford movement, and how university people in the 1830s, or 
1820s, or 1840s in England suddenly looked to the historical and 
spiritual (not the political) example of the Catholic Church in 
trying to reform the university and society. 

How did these students from backgrounds in Birmingham and 
Manchester, where all the great collections are even to this day 
in pre-Raphaelite painting, how did they get all involved with the 
Oxford movement, which is high church and regression to 
Catholicism, though they often came from evangelical homes? Well, 
if you take up a problem like that, if you examine the nature of 
the social currents of religion, both Protestant and Catholic, you 


can see how that university culture is affected too by larger 
social and cultural change. 

Rethinking and Adapting Academic Traditions 

Lage: So these are things you were discussing in your class and tying to 
the cur rent -- 

Schorske: Sure. But not relating too closely past tendency to our own. One 
tries to find reciprocal illumination of past and present, where 
differences count. I myself was having retakes on everything. 
You have to understand that it wasn t only students who were 
undergoing changes. We too in the faculty were undergoing 
changes. How do we work? Bob Brentano will give you another 
whole set of new concerns and problems in teaching. Every 
ingenious, committed teacher was having his own, "I have to 
rethink. I have to see: Is there some way?" This hasn t got to do 
with converting to a movement, it has to do with adapting a 
tradition both intellectually and rhetorically to a new situation, 
in which the forms in which we communicate learning and even the 
ways in which we make innovative steps intellectually, whether 
inside or away from tradition, can be made acceptable to another 
kind of student culture. We have to think it through. The 
bigness of the university, itself a problem, made it impossible 
for the faculty to do this collectively. 

The devolutionary conception of education I was searching for 
involves being aware that if you are a messenger of your gospel- - 
in my case, intellectual historythen you jolly well better 
temper the kind of claims that cling to your whole professional 
style, that have validated your authority; that is not the same as 
an intellectual validation. In searching for a new teaching 
method or a new rhetoric, the thing you have to hang on to is your 
sense of what is intellectually secure. And where you have 
doubts, you reveal the doubts. Where you see paradoxes in your 
own presentation and thinking, you reveal them. 

Let me make it very clear: I did not stand there thinking 
every time I spoke a sentence about all these inner things going 
on. But in a general way, I too and my colleagues were swept up 
in something like re-visioning the function of the university and 
the way in which our presentation of the substance and ethic of 
learning should be conveyed to a changing student culture. 

Lage: Now was this institutionalized, even to the extent that it was 
taken up as a departmental concern, or was this individual 


Schorske: No, it was individual professors, except where new colleges or 

experimental programs like Strawberry Canyon were concerned. One 
of the great weaknesses in this department, in all departments 
I ve ever been in, practically nobody ever has educational 
discussions. Practically nobody even has discussions of history 
as a substantive discipline in history departments. Go to the 
science departments; this vacuum is unheard of. People have--I 
told you- -bag lunches; students and faculty read each other s 
papers . 

My department at Princeton was much more active always than 
Berkeley in this, for we have occasional seminars or workshops 
organized for us to present our papers. 

Lage : But this didn t happen here. 

Schorske: No, and I never thought of doing it here either. But the point is 
that there isn t much educational discussion, here or at Princeton 
or elsewhere. One becomes aware who else is doing what, and then 
you can talk privately. You can hardly do it unless somebody 
thinks of addressing curricular questions, where someone says, 
"Now look. We have a requirement about so many courses of a given 
type for a major. Why don t we organize these courses 
differently?" In the Berkeley department, there was one very 
great, positive, forward step in my time here. We instituted the 
103s, the undergraduate seminars. 

Lage: But that was even before FSM. 

Schorske: I think it was before FSM. It s not a product of the affair; it 
began earlier. But I think I was here when it started. And talk 
about dialogue; it really went on in those 103s. It was like a 
graduate seminar in the best sense. When I got to Princeton, even 
my satellite seminars turned around, because we have a system in 
Princeton where regular faculty members serve as section leaders, 
as well as graduate students. So I had senior professors as TAs 
in my course. Sometimes they came from other departments. If 
they were willing to serve, they would be my section leaders. 

Lage: That s quite a change. 

Schorske: Some of the best people in German literature were teaching in my 
course. I had an architect--. Well, the satellite seminars were 
ideal for the interdisciplinary subject of intellectual history, 
especially at a certain moment when Princeton too underwent its 

After a while, however, the interest fell away, the experiment 
didn t work any more; professional disciplinary identity 
reasserted itself, and it was only history graduate students who 
were doing the satellite seminars. Soon they didn t want to be 


bothered with devising special themes for their sections. The 
mission had ceased to be relevant as the old order reasserted 
itself. The situation changed, so you couldn t go pushing forward 
with making graduate students go to a great deal of work to devise 
separate reading lists. They had to familiarize themselves 
quickly with other writings of the authors I assigned, all these 
complicated things. You couldn t ask that of people any more if 
they didn t feel that they had a stake, if they didn t see that 
they were doing something very new that was enlarging their 
autonomy. They didn t want enlarged authority; they wanted to fit 
in as fast as possible, get their degree and get out of there, and 
get a real job. That s the new ball game. 

Media Representations of Berkeley Teaching: "Berkeley Rebels" 



You left Berkeley, so perhaps you aren t aware of what remained at 
Berkeley from the new initiatives, but what do you think was 
retained from all this? 

I don t really know, and 1 hope you ll get those answers from 
other people, those who stayed. I m really not capable of 
answering that question. 1 know things like, for example, Charles 
Sellers, who was one of the most inventive teachers we had. He 
lost his interest afterward, I understand, and I m very sorry to 
hear it. He retired early, went into politics. He wasn t 
adequately respected, in my opinion, in the faculty, in the 
history department, or in the university; but as an educator, he 
was a powerhouse . 

For undergraduate sections in his larger courses, Sellers had 
students working on sources in a way that very few instructors had 
ever done. I heard Bob Brentano talking this morning about a plan 
he d been involved with for grade school experiments to mix 
anthropological techniques and historical source utilization in 
educating grade-schoolers in other cultures. Dazzling! These 
things go on all the time You often don t know who s doing it or 
when. Sellers I know was very inventive. But I doubt that most 
faculty changed their teaching ways at all. Leon Litwack was a 
very ingenious instructor. I encountered him by accident 
yesterday having lunch. We recalled a terrible episode that I may 
have mentioned to you about that CBS documentary "The Berkeley 
Rebels." Did I talk to you about that? 



On the phone, but we didn t tape anything about 

The Berkeley 

The film was interesting. Yet it was a very bad scene in many 
ways. Basically, it was a first attempt to be sympathetic to the 


students in the public medium of television. Harry Reasoner was 
the narrator; how much he had to do with making the program, I 
have no idea. They came here. I was a kind of teacher-hero in 
that film. They showed a lot of things about the FSM. Many of 
them were romanticized. Things 1 can remember [laughs]: two of 
the FSM leaders riding bareback on horses on a beach or something. 

But whatever. The video-makers projected what were 
purportedly two views of instruction at Berkeley, the right way 
and the wrong way. One was my course, and the other was Leon 
Litwack s course, which I think he gave jointly with Sellers at 
the time. We were in fact working along different lines for the 
same end. Litwack and Sellers got a new idea for increasing 
dialogue in the huge introductory course in American history. 
They would get the professor s lecture projected into little rooms 
in which the teaching assistants would conduct discussions of the 
lecture after it was received. Thus the students had a chance to 
talk about what was said in the lecture and relate this to the 
reading and so forth. 

As for me, the producers cast me as a good lecturer with 
immediate rapport with class. They showed me at an unusually high 
moment in the classroom, in full flight. I was lecturing on 
Hegel. They picked up some witty line--"the way things work with 
Hegel, God must be a narcissist." I remember this line coming 
through on the TV screen, something you think of in the middle of 
a lecture, you know. [laughter] 

Thus I was pictured as having total engagement with the 
students, because they picked a moment when I had cracked a joke. 
So it looked as though I was really Mr. It as an instructor. 

Then they showed Litwack in Wheeler Auditorium or some huge 
hall where Americanists have to teach because their audiences are 
so big, lecturing to his class. They chose a moment when he was 
reading statistics about, I don t know, the demographic changes in 
the Middle West something which, in isolation, can only seem 
impossibly dull. 

Lage: So they just picked a bad moment, because he s quite a fine 

Schorske: He s a fine lecturer, he s a wonderful lecturer. So it was just 
dirty pool. Even worse, they totally distorted the experiment 
with video in the sections. They put the camera on a carriage or 
whatever you call that, a dolly, and they moved it down the 
corridors of seminar rooms or little classrooms, showing through 
the doors as it went people incarcerated in these small, darkened 
rooms, looking at a television screen, just looking there, 


receiving this lecture with its statistics, one room after the 
other. It was going down death row in education! [laughter] 

And of course I knew what Leon Litwack s teaching was like and 
what his experiment was meant to do, to open the lecture to closer 
criticism. He told me yesterday, for the first time, he thought 
it was one of the worst educational experiments he d ever done. 
He thought it was a total failure. But at the time he was 
outraged by the unfair treatment he d received, as we all were in 
the history department. It was so gross- - 

Lage: The treatment in this film? 

Schorske: Yes, in the film. But he felt fundamentally they were right. He 
had himself, he told me yesterday, gone to these little rooms 
where the discussion was being held, and he felt it didn t work. 
You can t discuss in that situation with the time that is allotted 
to a section meeting, fifty minutes or something. You can t do 
any kind of a job. It was dull to sit there to look at a tape, 
when you could have been sitting in a big hall listening to a live 
person. He said after that year, he never did it again. He was 
very angry at the piece of lecturing they picked out, but he was 
not at all angry with the critique, which he shared, of the 
failure of this experiment. 

Well, that s the way it is. Some experiments work and some 
fail. In what comes forth as a public representation of the 
effort at what works and what fails, this poor guy looked as 
though he, Leon Litwack, was just the fellow Savio had been 
talking about in the "Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate" speech. 

Lage: It s ironic that they picked him, I would think. 

Schorske: I know. And how that happened, who knows? So why pick me? All 

those accidents go on every which way. But the episode shows how 
even the supposedly sympathetic mediahow few they were!-- 
misunderstood and misrepresented efforts to counteract 
impersonality in the teaching of large classes. 

Architectural Re-formation 

Schorske: I want to say one thing more, because it related to educational 

reform too. As you know, I was interested in the architecture and 
spatial structure of the campus in relation to the teaching 
mission as well as to public assembly and university ritual. But 
on the architecture, I felt we would come a cropper on this campus 
with our numbers always expanding. No matter what happened, we 
were always growing. Because the buildings weren t right for what 


it seemed to me we needed in the educational system. I was a 
believer not, as the students tended to be, in medium classes, no 
more big lectures. I thought there ought to be more big lectures, 
if anything. Only the best lecturers should lecturevery hard to 
introduce politically into a faculty, you can imagine. I felt 
that we really needed to say that some education can be done 
effectively by the lecture method; yet a lot of education cannot 
be done well unless you get down either to the tutorial or the 
seminar size, where the discussion can really go on. 

Lage: And then you have the problem of the mass education in the large 
public universities to contend with. 

Schorske: Right, and then you have the buildings. You have the terrible 

problem of the buildings. Look at the classroom design: classroom 
after classroom has forty seats, thirty-five seats, something like 
that. They re all in a row, and the professor is in front-- just 
the authority we have finished trying to turn in a more dialogical 
direction. Do not denigrate the great lecturer, which every 
academic institution can use. Let him speak in a big hall where 
his dramatic quality counts even more than in a small setting. If 
you lectured with brilliant rhetoric to eighteen or thirty people, 
it s not half as efficient as if you ve got a hundred sitting 
there. But the architectural problem is mind-boggling. Your 
buildings are arranged with the middle-sized class as the norm: 
too small for the mass-enrollment courses, too large and badly 
laid out for discussion. To find a space and to reorganize this 
space flexibly in accordance with changing student body size and 
changing educational needs--. 

Lage: Was that something you brought up at the time? 

Schorske: I tried to push this with Chancellor Meyerson, emphasizing that we 
should think growth, educational reform, and forms of building 
together. In twenty- five years, you will take the insides out of 
several classroom buildings of some importance. And you can begin 
thinking about how the wall partitions are constructed. Get your 
engineers to go around, look at the buildings, and see what walls 
are easily removed; and what walls can go up easily: where there s 
now a space that holds fifty people, it might make two seminars. 
You can take out the fixed chairs, throw them away, and you put in 
a table, which is what you should teach at in a seminar where 
equality is needed and exchange is essential. Not one person 
standing and the others sitting down; you re all around a table. 
In spatial thinking, as in that about teaching authority and 
forms, I was stimulated by the architectural changes that 
accompanied the historical and the present day reform of religious 


Oh, I see. The altar. 


Legacies of the Sixties; Institutional and Intellectual 

Lage: You really were stimulated a great deal by these ten years you 
were here, it sounds like. 

Schorske: Oh, terrifically. I have to say that from the day I first came to 
the Berkeley campus, stimulus was the name of the game. And 
yesterday in a walk through the campus, you say, "Did the sixties 
do anything?" Well, it was Just the same Berkeley campus. But 
why are all these Asian and black students coming to the Berkeley 
campus? This is an achievement of the sixties; nobody would have 
believed this possible. In my university, we work like mad to 
recruit minority students. We have a higher proportion of black 
students than you do, but the recruitment effort, the money that 
goes into doing this! Well, it was the civil rights movement on 
the outside, but also the action on the inside that has brought 
policies for enlarging the talent pool in the university with 
minorities. And now the counterattack is undermining these gains, 
especially in California. 

In a place like Princeton and many other places, getting women 
there, boy did it make a difference. Now they don t make any 
difference; they re just Princeton undergraduates, bright or dumb, 
like every other male. [laughter] But they re there. And the 
bright ones are there. And the talent pool is wider, so there are 
more bright people, more people able to profit from this, or to 
learn and reject, whatever they may do. 

But if you look at the legacy of the cultural-political 
movement in which Berkeley played a large part, this was a pay- 
dirt movement, despite some of the horrors that it caused and the 
lives it broke. I feel for some of those migrants, the Telegraph 
Avenue bums, whom we still see. People sometimes very old now, 
thirty years after the events, still lingering around. I m sure 
you find them in the hills too, It s just sad. 

Responding to the Postwar Shift to Formalism 

Lage: Now did this era also affect your writing and the directions you 
took in history? 

Schorske: It s very hard to say. I don t honestly think it did very much 
except in my teaching and my ideas of the university. My second 
intellectual and scholarly formation, reformation, took place in 
the fifties. It took place at Wesleyan, not here. My new 
mission, my particular mission in cultural history, I discovered 


there in another situation, one also very fraught with politics, 
as was the one in Berkeley. 

It had to do with--l don t know how far to get into it--the 
impact of the Cold War on academic culture. It had to do with the 
fact that in American scholarship during the postwar era, and in 
particular in the era of McCarthyism and the anticommunist 
crusade, the tendency in the disciplines in the humanities and 
social sciences was to dehistoricize themselves. History was, of 
course, the least affected by this trend. Yet I saw the 
historical mode of understanding among the educated threatened by 
formalism and scientism. 

I ve just written this up in the last Issue of Daedalus 
magazine, what the fifties meant. 3 The social sciences became 
scientized, quantified, and so forth, in an attempt to achieve 
maximum objectivity and to disengage from ideological and value 
commitment as much as possible. 

The humanities, for their part, went into formalism. This is 
the fifties: the great era of the New Criticism. Formalism in 
literature meant dehistoricization and desocialization. So the 
humanities become desocialized, the social sciences become 
dehumanized, and the over-arching conceptual frame for this is a 
rigorous formalism. Neither one is paying attention to the 
interaction between formal thought and social or cultural 

I saw that my job as an intellectual historian--! always 
wanted to be one but I didn t think of it this way until the 
fiftieswas to find some way of demonstrating the historical 
character of formalism itselfnot just today, but in the past as 
well. You cannot escape history; you are part of it even when you 
try to reject it. At the same time, I wanted to broaden 
historical work, to tell the historians that you cannot go on 
always using other disciplines and their materials merely as 
illustrations of what are essentially political or social 
historical developments that the historian knows before he reaches 
for these other fields, whether they be philosophy, psychology, 
the arts, whatever. With new analytical methods developed in the 
dehistoricizing disciplines, the historian has to pay more 
attention to the theoretical and formal aspects of the subjects he 
incorporates, and not just to reduce them to illustrations. 
Rather he must weave other fields into the fabric of historical 
development, cognizant of the analytical principles that people 
who reject history have shown to be illuminating. 

3 See the Daedalus issue in expanded book form: Thomas Bender and Carl 
Schorske Op. cit. 3-16, 309-330. 









You talk about Muscat ine. He was one of the colleagues who 
shook me out of historistic slumbers. Muscatine and I had it out 
at Wesleyan when he was a refugee there, before I ever came here, 
at the time when he was a very strong New Critiche was a Yale- 
trained personeven though he was working in medieval literature; 
I, on the other hand, was a strong historicist. He was the guy 
who showed me that you jolly well better look at how this poem is 
constructed before you start using it to illustrate your history. 
It s more than an illustration; it has its own life, and here s 
the way to analyze it. And history unaided cannot grasp it. 

So he was an important figure in some of your thinking. 

He was a very important figure in my intellectual development. It 
isn t only he; this place [Berkeley] was full of people with whom 
this discourse could be constructed, where the formalists 
themselves were not radical rejecters of history. Of economists, 
this was less true, and I lost my touch with the social 
scientists. I had allies among the social scientists, and some of 
them remained socially oriented. Someday there will be an 
analysis of who was on what side in these 

What about Philip Selznick, whom you mentioned earlier? 

Selznick was one of the people with whom I found it easy to have 
understanding. He was in the sociology of law. He had a little 
institute for that. He was socializing the legal discipline, and 
was thus partial to history. Partly because of this mindset, he 
was on my side during the FSM. If you go to the other side of the 
sociology department, there were the behavioral scientists such as 
Charles Clock and Kingsley Davis. 

Selznick had left, had he not? 

No. He didn t leave. 

Who am I thinking of here? Oh, Seymour Lipset. 
sociologist or a political scientist? 

Was he a 

He was a sociologista political sociologist [in the Department 
of Sociology] . 

Glazer, Nathan Glazer [in Sociology]. 

Nathan Glazer- -they all left. Louis Feuer [in Philosophy and 
Social Science}. He left. These are all ex-Marxists, and hence 
were inclined to see the student movement as profoundly 


Did you have any interchange with them? 


Schorske: Yes. I did with Lipset. 
Lage: Because he left denouncing-- 

Schorske: I did not know Glazer then, but Lipset I knew well, and Meyerson 
was close to Lipset. I told you about Meyerson 1 s catholicity. 
Here is an example of it. To a final dinner that Meyerson gave 
when he was going out as acting chancellor he invited my wife and 
me and the Lipsets. We were opponents in the events at Berkeley. 
Lipset was not on the Emergency Executive Committee, but he had 
very close advisory relations to Meyerson. 

When I talk about the behavioralist sociologists, the 
quantifiers, my wife worked for one. 

Lage: Neil Smelser? 

Schorske: No, for Charles Clock. But she worked for Smelser too. He was 

not the same kind of survey research sociologist as Clock. He was 
a Parsonian theorist. He was the heir apparent to Parson s 
legacy, which comes from Max Weber. And that was growing big in 
this country in the fifties, and Smelser became its main exponent. 

Anyhow, I shouldn t get off on this. The taxonomy of forms in 
which scholarship is conceived, whether the role of history is 
accounted for or not, also provided some kind of key, not 
foolproof, to the way in which people divided over the campus 
issues. You could not-- 

Lage: You went into that a little bit in talking about political science 
in our first interview. 

Schorske: Okay, well then sociology was another instance. Political science 
was the clearest and most drastic case of the correlation between 
method and political outlook. But sociology was a runner up; it 
was very tough in the sociology department for the behavioralists 
and more historical analysts to communicate with each other on 
campus issues. We didn t have that trouble in history, thank God, 
because we re such an intellectually loose discipline. 

Difficulty of Constructing the Grand Narrative: Fin-de-siecle 

Lage: Now, just to get back to our earlier question, your own direction 
was set in the fifties. Do you think the climate in the sixties 
affected your choices in your historical work? 


Schorske: I don t think much. It expanded the interdisciplinarity of my 

research, but it did one thing to me: it softened me up about the 
validity of conceiving history as a straight narrative if it was 
going to address the very tough problems of the relation between 
historicism and modernism, which became my problem, I never 
abandoned it. How could one historicize the antihistorical or 
ahistorical culture of the modernists? 


Schorske: I worked madly trying to write a narrative history about Vienna 
that would have all these f ields--politics, art, music, 
psychology, literature, et ceteraand still keep a clear 
narrative structure. Partly it was a failure. I was not able 
intellectually to construct an integrated narrative history out of 
the multidimensional material 1 was working on. I resigned myself 
in the end to using the post holing system, to using here-- 

Lage: Post hole. 

Schorske: Yes. You know what a post hole is. 

Lage: Yes. 

Schorske: You sink a shaft in this area and in that area. It s all the same 
subsoil. The posts that you put in these holes can be bound 
together and so on and so on, but the exploration, essentially, 
and the anchorage, the provision of anchorage, is an independent, 
autonomous exercise to resign oneself not to thinking in terms of 
the grand narrative, but to think of the essayistic approach. I 
use essay in Nietzsche s sense, or in the literal French sense: 
it s a try. It s the college try, you know? That I resigned 
myself to it was partly because my life, partly because my multi- 
disciplinary problem, dictated it. 

Lage: But was it also a philosophical view that things didn t fit 

Schorske: Well, it--I can never tell, I will be very honest, I can never 

tell whether it was a personal failure to achieve the fit myself 
in the way of a narrative sweep, to achieve a traditional form of 
historical book, or whether it was that I was myself a modernist 
and was in fact caught in a world in which my insistence on the 
autonomous nature of the cultural fields, of the parts, was 
forcing me to recognize that the whole could only be found in the 
subsoil below and the heavens above but not here on the surface 
[pounds table] --where I was supposed to be doing the work, 

And you will be amused at this, but in the end I found 
confirmation of my essayistic method in France, after my 


retirement. It started already in New York, where I discovered 
Milan Rundera, the novelist, who was very big in the seventies, a 
Czech emigre, as you know, who lived in Paris. 1 discovered this 
man s work. One of my students gave me several of his books. The 
first of them, The Joke, was in German, out in translation. He 
was still on a narrative thing. He then began to fragment; his 
novelistic forms began to evolve into separate episodic or 
thematic units, as my forms did. 

My first book had been a well-crafted book--my revised thesis 
--on German socialism in the traditional mode, but I paid a lot of 
attention to making it hang together. I tried to integrate 
sociology, ideology, and politics, and I had advisors who helped 
me with that when I published it, Oscar Handlin being the chief. 
But after wrestling with Vienna s more complicated culture for 
several years, I began to say "No, you can t do this as a straight 
narrative this time." Then to find Kundera coming to the same 
conclusion- -boy , it was a shock and an encouragement! Maybe this 
world shouldn t be--you shouldn t try to say what you want to say 
in your moment in history with the old means. 

So 1 say that s the positive side, that 1 know my essays are 
complete as autonomous but related entities. I know that people 
find in them--my original ideathat substratum of social 
experience that makes cohere people in fields of thought as 
diverse as are involved in my Vienna book,* from politics to 
psychoanalysis and back. 

But the other possibility is that somebody else could have 
made a consecutive narrative and I couldn t, that it was a 
personal failure. Which of these is true, I do not know. I have 
had to live with the result and at least have had the consolation 
that modernism, which was my subject, was fundamentally 
fragmented; that the things and values that had made it possible 
to see the world as coherent in some integrated relation of logic 
and life were evaporating from the scene, and that consequently my 
own sense of cultural coherence was to be found through a poly- 
focal perspective on the modern and historical worlds. 

You can ask, then, "How do you make form out of substance?" 
You use new, pluralistic forms for new substance. That s the 
positive way of evaluating my work. The other is to say "You 
wanted to make a narrative form, the proper 1 form for a time- 
subject to be understood, and you didn t succeed. So what you ve 
left us is a bunch of fragments. What s meaningful about that?" 

Lage: I appreciate the way you ve explained it. It s very accessible. 

Tin-de-siecle Vienna: Politics and Culture (New York: Knopf, 1979). 


Schorske: So Berkeley was a place where I could pursue rigorously an 
education in the autonomous disciplines I needed for my 
multifaceted approach. Yes, I say rigorously because of the 
wonderful people around: Kuhn who worried this in some way, Cavell 
in philosophy, Kerman in music, Politzer in German literature; 
colleagues in the history department. I mean, for the stuff I 
told you about religion, I never should leave [William] Bouwsma 
out: Bouwsma s grasp of Protestantism, and especially his Venice, 
which he finished, I guess, after I left Berkeley. But never 
mind. I learned about religion from Bouwsma, from May, from other 
people here. I learned about architecture and city planning from 
Meyerson, who was in that field, and from Berkeley s fine 
architectural library. I mean, let s say if I was falling into 
parts, the pursuit of those parts the post holingwas something 
I really could do with faculty in Berkeley in a major way, and I 
did. That was why it was a growth opportunity for me 

Leaving Berkeley for Princeton, 1969 

Schorske : 


Schorske ; 

Now we need to move to the final set of questions. 

All right. 

Why did you leave? 

Well, that was complicated. Several things. I will be frank 
about it: I had gotten involved in the crisis here (the anti- 
Vietnam War movement as well as the university problem) to the 
point where 1 was feeling to some degree eaten up. It did not 
have to do with what was wrong with the place, but it did have to 
do with my deep emotional engagement with it. Where would I be 
when the ship was on an even keel again, or if it didn t get on an 
even keel again? I felt that I had a sort of constituency that 
was putting me in a position where some faculty members expected 
of me things that, in the last analysis, I was not prepared to 
give. The cost for my research--! m such a slow worker that you 
have to put that into the equation. And a slow grower. The 
psychic cost for one not temperamentally suited to conflict was 
very high. 

They expected your time? 

Are you talking about demands on your 

They expected my involvement; that meant timeand more, 
In all the political and governance issues. 


Schorske: Yes, in what was going on in the university. And to say that such 
expectations came to me only from without is wrong. I added to 
them myself. So it s a mixture. It was social pressure and 
internal pressureinternal ambition, if you wish, but not to 
become an administrator. I never wanted that. But to pursue 
somehow the degree of faculty involvement I had contracted when I 
was already in my mid-fifties was too much. 

Lage: So your work was suffering. 

Schorske: My work suffered greatly in this period. 

So why did I leave? It came about almost by accident. In 
1968 I took a year off to go to the Institute for Advanced Study 
to catch up in research. And I did partly; I did another leg of 
work on my Vienna study. But then I had an offer from both 
Princeton University and the Institute. The two institutions went 
together: you became a regular professor at Princeton, they said, 
and for three more years you can continue as an Institute member 
for half of each year. So I had a complete deal that was very 
rare. I found it enormously tempting becausewell, for the 
reasons I ve given you. Berkeley was taking too much out of me, 
even if I was to some extent at fault for that. I desperately 
needed the clear time and the quiet for my book that was already 
over ten years in the making. 

Lage: When you got away, did you get more perspective on the UC 

experience, or on California as a place compared to the East? 

Schorske: Oh, I think my views were already formed. I didn t reform them, 
no. I certainly was interested in how the two different 
institutions worked. I had an educational opportunity in 
Princeton that I didn t have here, but I didn t know that when I 
left. In the end, I could build up my own program in European 
cultural studies, which I had tried to do with colleagues here in 
another formone of the documents I gave you talks about these 
efforts within the history department here, which were rejected. 

Lage: Oh, that was rejected? That proposal for a graduate program in 
cultural history? [See Appendix H] 

Schorske: That proposal was rejected. It didn t have any appeal to 

Muscatine; but above all it didn t have any real appeal to the 
history department except for the intellectual historians. It had 
some support in the history department, but they refused to let us 
go out and get money for it. 

[Hans Rosenberg led the attack in the department, arguing that 
a special program in cultural history in which graduate students 
received allocated fellowships would privilege that field over 
others. Nick Riasanovsky argued in vain that if students in 


cultural and intellectual history were financed from new funds, it 
would free fellowship money for others. I remember his words "All 
ships rise on the same tide." But Rosenberg prevailed. He had a 
particular distrust of intellectual history as a result of his 
German experience. Because Geistesgeschichte. in which he had 
been trained, was in Germany often associated with nationalist 
ideology, Rosenberg had left this field for social history, where 
a more critical attitude toward state and nation prevailed. He 
could not but view with distrust an effort to make Berkeley a 
magnet for the study of cultural history. His authority, rarely 
exercised with such a force of feeling, carried the day. --added 
by Professor Schorske during editing.) 

That decision by the history department I regarded as the one 
blow I ever received from the history department. I did not 
anticipate it and found it mortifying, as well as Just plain 
wrong . 

Lage: And did you recreate the proposal at Princeton? 

Schorske: I created something different: an interdisciplinary program in 

European cultural studies for undergraduates. The different thing 
I did there I couldn t have done here because it involved too many 
disciplines, and it was more forward-looking, though very small. 
It was an undergraduate program in which almost all the courses 
were team taught. Again, I had to go out and get the money for it 
in the beginning; then the university took it over. It still 
exists. The courses were team taught by one social scientist or 
historian and one humanist. It was a program, not a major, and 
not a department. It was voluntary on the part of the students, 
and they came from all different majors. They wrote their thesis 
with their major department, but it had to be on an 
interdisciplinary problem. We ran a special seminar for the 
senior thesis writers. At Princeton everybody writes a senior 

It was a terrific teaching experience for me, such as I never 
had anywhere else, year after year working with different 
partnersgreat people, such as Richard Rorty in philosophy, 
Joseph Frank in Russian literature, and Anthony Vidler in 
architecture. Vidler was my principal partner is constructing the 
program. Robert Darnton and sometimes Natalie Davis gave a course 
with Clifford Geertz, from the Institute for Advanced Study, who 
taught year after year without compensation. We had a terrific 
growth potential for instructors to keep you alive, Thus, Lionel 
Grossman in Romance languages and I gave a seminar on the culture 
of Basel in the nineteenth century that opened up a whole new 
subject for both of us. 

Lage: So those were exciting years too. 


Schorske: And I couldn t do those here. All in all, I had luck in my three 
institutions: Wesleyan, Berkeley, and Princeton. Each gave me 
something, each took away something. The general atmosphere here 
I could never replicate anyplace else, for social and cultural 
stimulation. It s Just mind-bogglingly high here and came at a 
time for me when I might have become much more sedentary and 
professionally complacent. So it was good for me personally, but 
I think in the end my family paid a high price. Again for me, it 
was worth it to change to Princeton. I still miss the place 
terrifically, as you can telland so does my wife. 

Lage: Yes. 

Schorske: But for my final years of teaching, to keep growing in new fields, 
Princeton was a wonderful experience. 

Lage: Were the students of a very different quality? 

Schorske: No, although the social differentiation of the students at 

Princeton was obviously less palpable than at Cal. As far as my 
students in intellectual history were concerned, 1 felt that those 
at Berkeley were more intellectual, those at Princeton more 
academic. The ones at Princeton, however, could be bonded more 
easily around intellectual interests. I would like to have done 
at Berkeley what Sherry Washburn did for his anthropology 
students, establish a little house for them, to give them social 
identity. Selznick did it too for his law and society program. 
That would make for intellectual learning as I believed in it, but 
I couldn t get that out of the history department here. In 
Princeton I didn t need it. The students found themselves; they 
made a subculture for themselves in the cultural studies program. 
I hope they still do. They were an elite because they were self 
selected; they got no extra credit for much of their work. They 
got course credit, but boy, the work they had to put in for our 
program was heavy. 

Lage: So they were stimulated as well. 

Schorske: Oh. They were great students who stimulated each other. We had 
the best faculty and the best students. Well, that s elitist if 
you like, but it made my last teaching years a huge pleasure. 

Lage: Sounds very nice. Well, is there anything else that you want to 
say about this experience in the sixties? 

Schorske: No, I don t think so. I think I ve said over much. 

Lage: When you ve read accounts of what happened in Berkeley in the 
sixties, do you ever feel that there s something that s just 
missed or something you d want future historians to be sure to get 



Schorske: I think that nobody thinks of putting into this what your last 
day s questions have pushed forward: what did the sixties do to 
your way of thinking about history, about teaching, about the 
profession? And I would say that the big item that Berkeley put 
foremost on my agenda was that university teaching is a vocation 
and not a profession alone. It is a profession with a 
responsibility not just to the international community but to the 
local community of learningstudents as well as professors in 
which one serves. 

Among the people I found here, one of the main ones who had a 
full sense of learning as a vocation was Sheldon Wolin. He was 
not much loved by the faculty here because of his radicalism. But 
for me, he was a great moral example as a teacher-scholar, even if 
I disagreed with many of his institutional ideas. Another, in 
many ways at the opposite remove from Wolin on the political 
spectrum, was Ray Sontag, whose commitment as a teacher in my view 
transcends his conservative politics both national and, often, 

The idea of vocation in connection to the scholarly profession 
derives from our origins in the medieval university where the 
teachers and scholars were men of the cloth. Ours is a clerical 
heritage, secularized. In the secularization process, too much of 
the moral dimension of our calling was eroded. That was a lesson 
I learned at Berkeley that should have been for everybody, but 
wasn t. 

Lage: And isn t much talked about. 

Schorske: No, that isn t talked about, and I wish it were. 

Lage: Well, now we have it. 

Schorske: No, now we just have on the record somebody who thinks vocation 
should have been on the agenda more than it was. 

Transcribed by Mary Mead and Estevan Sifuentes 
Final Typed by Sara Diamond 

TAPE GUIDE- -Carl E. Schorske 

Interview 1: October 17, 1996 

Tape 1 , Side A 1 

Tape 1, Side B 13 

Tape 2, Side A 24 

Tape 2, Side B 35 

Tape 3, Side A 48 

Tape 3, Side B not recorded 

Interview 2: May 5, 1997 

Tape 4, Side A 55 

Tape 4, Side B 66 

Tape 5, Side A 78 

Tape 5, Side B 92 

Interview 3: May 6, 1997 

Tape 6, Side A 100 

Tape 6, Side B 110 

Tape 7, Side A 131 

Tape 7, Side B not recorded 


A Carl E. Schorske, A Life of Learning. Charles Homer 
Haskins Lecture, Apr. 23, 1987; American Council of 
Learned Societies, ACSL Occasional Paper No. 1 139 

B Memorandum to President Kerr and Chancellor Strong on 

the suspension of SLATE, August 23, 1961 151 

C Letter re use of the university s name, June 11, 1962 154 

D Letter re History Colloquium with Herbert Aptheker, 

March 13, 1963 156 

E Letters re the appearance of Albert Lima on- campus 

in July 1963 159 

F "Professional Ethics and Public Crisis: A Historian s 

Reflections," by Carl E. Schorske, March 1968 166 

G List of nominees to Emergency Executive Committee, 

December 8, 196A 172 

H Proposal for graduate program in cultural history, 

December 1965 175 

I Carl E. Schorske, Curriculum Vitae 181 












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Milton V. Anastos 
Professor Emeritu 
and History 
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Carl E. Schorske 
Professor Emeritu 
Princeton Univers 




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IVly first encounter with the world of learning took place, if family ac 
count is to be believed, when I entered kindergarten in Scarsdale, New 
York To break the ice among the little strangers, my teacher, Miss Howl, 

asked her pupils to volunteer a song. I gladly offered a German one, 

called "Morgenrot" It was a rather gloomy number that I had learned at 

home, about a soldier fatalistically contemplating his death in battle at 











strong Miss Howl was outraged at my performance. She took what she 























cipal s office. That wise administrator resolved in my interest the prob- 




















grade under Mrs. Beyer, a fine teacher who expected me to work but not 
to sing 

Was this episode a portent of my life in the halls of learning? Hardly. 

But it was my unwitting introduction to the interaction of culture and 
politics, my later field of scholarly interest. 


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tk>n on the middle landing of the staircase in our family s ho 

was a beauteous knight in the best Pre-Raphaelite manner: a 
burnished armour with a sensitive, androgynous face, my: 
shrouded in misty bluish air. 

After the lecture, I recalled how my mother loved that pict 
indeed she loved Morris Defense of Guenefere, and the literati 











poured contempt on that feminine Sir Galahad. Now Wagner 









Father not only loved Wagner s music, he believed in Siegfried tl 

mythic socialist, as interpreted by G.B. Shaw irf The Perfect Wa 
and in the anti-feminist interpretation of Wagner of that cum 
radical, H.L. Mencken. Mother accorded a hard won tolera 

more for the Teutonic longueurs of Wagner s operas, but non 
abrasive virility of Mencken or my father s Shaw. 

Recalling hot parental arguments on such matters, I sudde 
izcd that, in contrapasing Morris and Wagner in my teaching, I hi 
left the family hearth. Freud would say that, here in th 
of my professional work as a historian, I was addressing in sul 
form a problem of the family scene. In any case, the episode 
home to me the power of my family in shaping the cultural intci 
symbolic equipment with which 1 came to define my life. 
As far as I know, my parents had no deliberate idea of pus 
toward an academic career. Autodidacts both, they respected 1 
but what they cultivated was not scholarship but a kind of na 
tellectuality The concerts, theaters and museums that were thci 
tion became the children s education. They fostered our mil 
tcrests not just with private lessons but by taking us with them ii 
choral societies On my father s two- week vacations we went by 
ship on intensive sight-seeing trips: to New England historic site; 
Concord or the old ports of Maine; Civil War battlefields wl 
grandfather had ( ,ught in a New York German regiment; the gr< 
of the East and Midwest from Philadelphia to St Paul. 

Along with all the elite cultural equipment, my parents intr 
us children, through their lives as well as by precept, to the r 
politics My father, son of a German-born cigar-maker, inhen 

radical propensities that went with that socially ambiguous tra 



































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outlook and value system came not from the seminars in modern history 
but from an intensive exploration of Greek history with William Scott 
crguson. Despite the fact that 1 was a modernist without usable Greek 
Ferguson took me on for an in-depth tutorial. Each week I went to his for a two-hour discussion of the books he had assigned, ranging 
m the anthropology of pre-political tribes to Aristotle s Athenian Con- 
ution or the structure of Roman rule in Greece. For my general ex 
amination I prepared a special subject on Aristophanes under Ferguson s 
gu,dance-an exercise which enabled me for the first time to ground a 
whole literary oemre in a field of social power. Ferguson s critical 
tutelage really opened my eyes, as the field of classics has done for so 
many, to the possibilities of integrated cultural analysis. It also remained 
with me as a model of pedagogic generosity. 
The comparative quiet of Harvard s political scene that I found on 
my arrival in 1936 soon changed. After 1938, when America began to 
face the menacing international situation in earnest, political concern 
rcame more general and intense within the univcrsity-and in me 
Divisions on the issue of intervention ran deep, and many of us, young 
and old, felt impelled to debate it publicly. When political passions run 
rong, the relation between one s obligations to the republic of letters 
and to the civic republic can become dangerously conflated Two per 
sonal experiences at Harvard brought this problem home to me 

The first occurred in 1 940 in History I, the freshman course in which 
I served as a graduate teaching assistant. Its professor, Roger B. Mer- 
riman, a colorful, salty personality of the old school, passionately devot- 
rd to aristocratic Britain, believed, along with a few other staff members, 
that instruaors had a public responsibility to get in there and tell the little 
gentlemen what the war was all about, to make them realize the impor 
tance of America s intervention. A few of us, across the often bitter bar 














were Barnaby C. Keeney, later the first director of the National Endow- 

for the Humanities, and Robert Lee Wolff, who became professor 
Byzantine history at Harvard. Quite aside from the principle involved, 
the experience of History I taught me how shared academic values could 

sustain friendships that political differences might destroy. 

The second experience, of an intellectual nature, left a permanent 

my consciousness as an historian The graduate history club had 


politics and academic culture in the late forties and fifties I would have 
encountered them in any university. But only a small college could have 
provided the openness of discourse that made It possible to confront the 

cultural transformation across the borders of increasingly autonomous 

disciplines At Wesleyan in particular, thanks to President Victor Butter- 

field s selection of imaginative faculty members at the war s end, an at 

mosphere of vital critical exploration prevailed. From my colleagues 1 
received the multi-disciplinary education for the kind of cultural history I 


























tellectual dilemmas about to appear or the new horizons that opened 
with them. Like most returning veterans, whether students or pro 
fessors, I felt only a joyful sense of resuming academic life where I had left 
it five years before. The freshman Western Civilization course that I was 
asked to teach had just been introduced at Wesleyan by assistant pro 
fessors fresh from Columbia. For me it was a throwback to my own 
freshman year founeen years earlier. Teaching four sections, I had more 
than enough opportunity to explore the riches of the course. Once again 
I encountered there, in all its optimistic fullness, the premise that the pro 
gress of mind and the progress of state and society go hand in hand, 
however painful the tensions and interactions may sometimes be. 

In framing an advanced course in European 19th-century history, 1 
also returned to a pre-war pattern to explore the relationship between 
domestic national histories and international development. Even my 
European intellectual history course, though fairly original in its com 
parative national approach to the social history of ideas, bore the stamp 
of the American neo-Enlightenment in which I had been formedat home 
and at Columbia. Its central theme was the history of rationalism and its 
relation to political and social change. Viable enough for constructing an 
architecture of intellectual development before the mid- 19th century, 
the theme proved less and less useful as the 20th century approached, 
when both rationalism and the historicist vision allied with it lost their 
binding power on the European cultural imagination. 

In the face of the fragmentation of modern thought and an, 1 fasten 

ed on Nietzsche as the principal Intellectual herald of the modern condi 

tion. He stood at the threshold between the cultural cosmos in which I 

was reared and a post-Enlightenment mental world just then emergent in 
America a world at once bewildering, almost threatening, in its con- 

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measure the damage of the Yalta ".ccord and of preventing the permanent 
division of Europe Although the Council generously published my 
analysis of the German problem, It rejected my policy recommenda 

tions. It was my last fling at influencing U.S. policy from within the 

The swift transformation of the East-West wartime alliance Into the 
systemically structured antagonism of the Cold War had profound con 
sequences for American culture, not the least for academic culture. It was 

not simply that the universities became a prey to outer forces that saw 
them as centers of Communist subversion. The break-up of the broad, 

rather fluid liberal-radical continuum of the New Deal into hostile camps 

of center and left deeply affeaed the whole intellectual community. The 
political climax of that division was Henry Wallace s presidential cam 
paign in 1 948, in which I myself was active. The bitter feelings it left in its 

wake only served to conceal a more general change in climate by which 
most intellectuals were affected, namely the revolution of falling expec 
tations in the decade after 1947. The coming of the Cold War and with 

it, McCarthyism forced a shift in the optimistic social and philosophic 
outlook in which liberal and radical political positions alike had been 

Wesleyan was a wonderful prism through which these changes 
were refracted. Several liberal activists of the social science faculty, in 
cluding non-religious ones, turned to the neo-Orthodox Protestantism 
of Reinhold Niebuhr to refound their politics in a tragic vision. Young 
scholars in American studies transferred their allegiance from Parrington 
and his democratic culture of the open frontier to the tough moral 
realism of Perry Miller s Puritans. For undergraduates, a new set of 
cultural authorities arose. Jacob Burckhardt, with his resigned patrician 
wisdom in approaching problems of power, and the paradoxical 
pessimism of Kierkegaard elicited more interest than John Stuart Mill s 
ethical rationalism or Marx s agonistic vision. Existentialism, a stoical 
form of liberalism, came into its own, with Camus attracting some, Sartre 
others, according to their political persuasion. 

Nothing made a greater impression on me in the midst of this 
transvaluation of cultural values than the sudden blaze of interest in Sig- 

mund Freud Scholars of the most diverse persuasions to whom my own 

ties were close brought the tendency home Two of my teachers turned 
to Freud: the conservative William Langer used him to deepen his 

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vealed such impressionistic procedures as woefully inadequate. The 
historian thus faced two challenges at once: to show the continued im- 





















scholars were rejecting it ; and to do this at a moment when the historian s 
own methods of analysis were being revealed as obsolete and shallow by 
the very a-historical analytic methods against which he wished to defend 
his vision. 

For me, the issue first came to focus in dealing with literature. When 
1 charged my Wesleyan friends In the New Criticism with depriving 
literary works of the historical context that conditioned their very ex 

istence, they accused me of destroying the nature of the text by my ex- 



















e e. cummings: "let the poem be." But he taught me how to read 
literature anew, how the analysis of form could reveal meanings to the 
historian inaccessible If he stayed only on the level of ideas, of discursive 

content. Other colleagues in architecture, painting, theology, etc., 
similarly taught me the rudiments of formal analysis so that I could utilize 
their specialized techniques to pursue historical analysis with greater 

conceptual rigor. 

By the fifties, the problems I have thus far described the blockage 
in my course after Nietzsche, the changes in politics with the external and 
internal Cold War, the dehistoriclzation of academic culture, and the 
need for higher precision in intellectual history all converged to define 
my scholarly agenda. I resolved to explore the historical genesis of the 
modern cultural consciousness, with Its deliberate rejection of history. 
Only in a circumscribed historical context, so It seemed to me, could a 
common social experience be assessed for its impact on cultural creativi 
ty. Hence, a city seemed the most promising unit of study. Like 
Goldilocks in the house of the three bears, I tried out several Paris, 
Berlin, London, Vienna in seminars with Wesleyan students. I chose 
Vienna as the one that was "just right." It was indisputably a generative 
center in many important branches of twentieth century culture, with a 
close and well-defined intellectual elite that was yet open to the larger 

currents of European thought. Thanks to my Wesleyan colleagues, I had 
acquired enough Intellectual foundation to embark upon a multi- 
disciplinary study. 



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teaching assistants. I asked them to deal with the saj 

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Thinking." The graduate T.A. thus became a mediator 1: 
fessional discipline and standards in which he had a voc; 

the concerns of the new generation of which he was a p 
the enlargement of the T.A. s authority. The satellite s 

helped satisfy the felt need for dialogue, which in fact an 
might provide; it also set up a healthy dialectic betweer 

scheme of my lectures and the ideas and existential 
students reflected in each seminar s special theme. 

As I followed the intellectual yield of the seminars, I 
of the deep truth of Nietzsche s observation that a new 

sent opens a new organ of understanding for the past, 
have become more widespread, such as Foucault s, fi 

there. The satellite seminar system was adopted by a fr 
Berkeley and Princeton, and was effective for its tir 
seventies, however, when deference to the canonical in 

tual and social quiescence returned, it lost its appc 
assistants. Well suited to its time, its time soon passed. Ir 

scholarship, one must live in the provisional, at 
acknowledge obsolescence and to adapt the forms o 
changes in both culture and society. 

in a single perspective. In my intellectual history of Vienna, 1 had sought 
to integrate politics and culture in substance, historical and formal 













reconcile academic autonomy and anti-war activism; in educational 

policy, faculty authority and educational renewal. 

Those who experienced the university crisis will know how searing 

the sense of dissolution can be, even if tempered now and again by a 
sease of future promise. I certainly had hopes that a stronger university 
community would issue from the crisis, and drew strength from the fine 

group of collaborating colleagues who shared my convictions about 
both free speech and educational reform. But in the conflict-laden en 

vironment, two other, less homogeneous entities made the situation 
bearable: my department and my classes. 

The history department was deeply divided over the issues of 

university policy; more, it contributed articulate spokesmen to almost 

every shade of opinion in the Academic Senate. Yet when the department 
met on academic business, its divisions on personnel or curricular prob 
lems did not follow those in Senate meetings on university issues. I could 
expect to find in a colleague who had opposed me on the Senate floor a 
staunch ally on a department matter. Professional ethos and collegiaJity 
remained intact. How different It was in other departments, such as 
politics and sociology, where methodologicaJ divisions tended to coin 
cide with and reinforce political faction! My classes, buoyant and in 
tellectually engaged through all the troubles, also were a continuous 
source of stability. However, the pressures of the crisis caused me to 
rethink my teaching. 

Once, after a final lecture in intellectual history, I had an experience 
that gave me food for thought. My students gave me the customary 
round of year-end applause. After all the difficulties of that year, I floated 
out of the lecture room on cloud nine. Then, as I walked 
down the corridor, I heard a girl behind me say to her companion, in a 
voice heavy with disgust: "And they call that a dialogue!" The remark 
Jerked me back to earth. Beneath it lay two problems: first, student 
hunger for closer relations with the instructor, always present to some 
degree, but intensified by the unrest Into a widespread rejection of the 

lecture system as impersonal . Second, the passage of the student revolt 
from politics to culture. The gap that had opened between generations in 


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chronic recovery of a static slice of the past at one end of th 
humanistic theory of forms at the other, these recapitul 
history itself in the seventies the loss of interest in process a 

mation that had marked the new academic culture outside h 
fifties. In my Princeton history department, the dominant 

was toward the social sciences. 

1 am no theorist and no methodologist. My way of ad< 
problem of polarization in the sciences humaines and in histc 
through teaching but this time not alone, and not pu 
history. A small group of Princeton faculty from different c 
joined me in devising an undergraduate inter-disciplinary prc 
European Cultural Studies. Its regnant idea was to bring to 
same objects of study the separate lights of social scientists, h 
eluded, and humanists the groups that elsewhere were p 
apan. All courses in the program were taught in 
teams hopefully one social scientist and one humanist, 
scientists other than social historians could be induced to j< 
gram. But the seminars did establish a field of discourse relatii 
and idealional worlds to each other, despite the autonort 
academic culture. In a more personal sense, teaching over 
with scholars in philosophy, architecture, Russian, German 
literature made of my last teaching decade a quite new 1 
perience. From one of the seminars, on Basel in the nineteen 
issued a research project with my teaching partner, a study < 
concern of my Berkeley years: the relation between univer 













history as essential constituents of its processes. In the last y 
reversed the effort, trying to project historical understand! 
world of the arts, through work with museums, architecture s 

critical writing for the larger public. The venue may change, t 
one s engagement alter as one grows older and the worl 

Preparing this account, however, has made me realize all too c 

have not moved very far from the issues that arose in my form 

when the value claims of intellectual culture and the structu 

power first appeared in a complex interaction that has neve 
engage me. 

3 c 






August 23, 19(1 



As you know* vw havo been actively Intorsswd In tha problem of 
Student political organisation and activity on campus. Since tha suspension 
of SLATE on June 9th, w* have met several tlocs by ourselves end with Other 
umbers of the faculty; wo have discussed soao of these problems with students 
who have sought our advice and aid; several of us Mere Invited to appear 
at the hearing held July 20th by the Coanlttev on Recognition of Student 
Organizations; and wa have exchanged views with you on a number of occasions. 

tn the light of the nsw directive of July 24th, we thought It would 
bo of Interest to you to have our general assessment of the situation es 
we see It now. 

First* however, we should like to restate the particular Issues that 
have concerned us. These have been mainly three: 

(a) The suspension of SLATE. Wo wished to affirm faculty Interest 
tn this particular case, and to defend SLATE If that seamed necessary and 
proper. After study of tho case wo did conclude that SLATE, while marl ting 
sorao kind of punitive action, should not be permanently suspended under 
the rules In affect prior to July 24, 1961. More specifically. It was our 
hope that SLATE would be able to participate In the A$UC elections of the 
Pall tern. 1961. 

(b) The gneral problem of fair procedure In the regulation of 
student organizations. While we do not think that the administration of 
those affairs should be governed by an excess of logallsra, we do feel that 
at least the rights of notice and hearing, as well as a due regard for 
fairness In fitting the punishment to the crime, should be safeguarded. 
The SLATE case does suggest that such procedures have yet to be developed 
on the Berkeley campus, it Is our understanding that the Committee on 
Recognition of Student Organizations has taken cognizance of this p rob 1 era 
and aay have reported on It In connection with Us consideration of the 
SLATE suspension. 

(c) The Idea of campus political parties. We were concerned lest 
the SLATE case, whatever its particular merits, prejudice tha general Idea 
that canpus political parties are a useful adjunct to more fomal educational 
processes on campus. 

*. .-* 

(for understanding of tho Present Situation 

t. The new directive of July 24th does allow campus political 
parties as "student groups organized exclusively for the election of student 
officers and for discussion of student government Issues." We assume this 



Page TWo August 23, 1961 

won* that such groups can enter candidates In student elections, such candidates 
being Identified as party candidate*; run a unified campaign; hold rail fas on 
campus; end do whatever etse may be reasonable and proper In the light of 
their special purposes. 

2. The new directive Is silent on the right of other bon? 

organizations to present themselves es student political parties running 
candidates In student elections. However, It Is our understanding that, at 
least on the Berkeley campus, "off-campus as well as otveampus student groups 
with faculty advisors end fraternities and living groups are entitled to 
sponsor candidates. The only requirement Is that a group be a bona f fdf 
student group and that It conform to election rules of the ASUtJ? (Letter 
of Chancellor Strong to Professor Selznlck, July 19, I9&1.) 


We are delighted by the evolution of this policy. It definitely ( 
appears that the University Is coamltted to safeguarding the opportunity of 
the student body to have a meaningful political experience so far as the 
election of student govomnent Is concerned. We are still In sons doubt 
regarding the effects of the restriction on holding membership meetings on 
can pus, so far as the new category of "off-caatpus" organizations Is con 
cerned, and we fear that this may work a serious hardship* 


Sppse Continuing Probleq* 

Ma feel It would be of value to the administration, In working out 
Its new policies, to give consideration to the following matters which may 
be troublesome In the near future. 


We welcome the spirit of Chancellor Strong 1 ! statement of July 19th 
to the effect that ASUC Itself will deteralne the rules of participation In 
student elections. Certainly maximum autonooy for the Associated Students 
Is desirable. On the other hand, we assume that the administration will 
retain residual responsibility for Insuring that ASUC rules are broadly 
consistent with University policy. Including the policy of safeguarding 
rights of bonft fide student groups. It may bo das! rabble to anticipate 
SOBJO Issues that may arise when ASUC attempts to Interpret University policy 
with respect to participation In student elections. 

Specifically, If an organization such es SLATE decides not to be a 
"student organization authorized to use University facilities for regular 
membership meetings and to use the name of the University," it may yet seek 
to run candidates In tho student elections as an "off-campus" group. Will 
It be able to organize Its campaigns on campus by holding campaign organUing 
meetings, rallies, conferences with other groups, etc.? VII) the question 
of rules to bbe made by ASUC for the governance of student elections be a 
proper campaign Issue? If It Is, will ASUC be allowed to decide whet con 
stitutes a Wmbershlp meeting?" 



Page Two August 23, 1961 

On a broader level there are some Issues which remain, for us, not 
yet clearly resolved. For example, MB feel that the Interpretation of the 
State Constitution as restricting student political activity Is questionable and 
should receive further study. We have some doubts about the real ISM of tho 
assunptlon tht student pronouncements are likely to be confused with the 
stand of the University as an Institution. And we contlnueto believe that 
all frona .fide., student groups should be allowtd to hold membership mooting* on 
canpus, so long as they are engagod in lawful activities serving an educational 
purpose. W hope that both tho administration end tho faculty will from tUae 
to time re-exTralno those questions In tho light of experience under the) new 
policy; and we offer our earnest support In your efforts to sustain and 
extand freedom and responsible citizenship on our canpus. 

Our Interest fn tho Issues raised by the SLATE suspension should 
not be construed as a general criticism of the University administration. 
We are well aware of the liberalizing Measures Instituted In recent years. 
Nor are we unmindful of the repeated defense of the University, end of Its 
open forum policy, made by tho administration against adverse pressures and 
criticism. (In passing wo night note that the very telegram which helped 
got SLATE Into so Much trouble was written In praise of the University and 
specifically of President Kerr.) We would bo unhappy, and seriously misunderstood. 
If our action In this matter In any way looftned the broad and f Inqtfaonds that 
now exist between faculty end administration. 

We have no wish to magnify disagreements. At the same time, we know 
you will concur that It Is Important to keep lines of communication open. 
As faculty moabors, we try to make ourselves available to the problem* of 
students, and we hop* that a dialogue with you, from time to time, wilt be 

welcomed as creative and enlightening. 


Your* very sincerely. 

Van Dusen Kennedy Hanen C. Selvln 

Leo Lowanthal Philip Selznlck 


Carl E. Schorske Henry Nash Smith 


Charles 8. SelUrs.Jr. Kenneth K. Stampp 




June 11, 1962 

Professor V. H. Gledt, Chalrmn 
Coandttee on Acadenlc Jreedcn 
Academic Senate, Berkeley Division 
211 fechanies Building 

Dear Professor Oiedt: 

At its last Meeting, the Berkeley Division of the Acadeaic Senate 
pesaed a oense-cotloc expressing its opposition to sections one end three 
of the Breft Statenent ConcernlnE Use of UniTeraity Raae and Facilities 
by Faculty and taff in their Relations vlth Persons and (Jroupe outside 
the University." 

Since I vas not able to attend that neeting, I should like to take 
this means of indicating to you ny support of the sense-antion adopted 
by it. It seems of highest importance that ve be allowed to identify 
our selves professionally before the public though clearly not *i 
to speak for the University of California. 

With thanks for your interest. 

Cerl E. Schorskc 

CES:hb Professor of History 

cc: President Kerr 


How about this* 

At its last nesting the Berkeley Division of the Academic Senate passed a 
sense-notion expressing its o-position to sections one and three of the 
attached "Draft Statement Concerning tfhe of University Name and Facilities 
by Faculty and Staff in their Relations with persons and Groups outside 
the Univers ty." 

Because all of s were not there, and because those of us who were prefer 
not to lose our identities completely in the anonymity of a voice vote, 
we would like, as scholar-citizens distinguished by -toStEe member ship in 
the faculty of history of the University of California, Berkeley (though 
clearly not ts representatives of the University iiuititmaciiiitmiMUBin as a 
corporate body), to indicate our personal support of that motion. 

Hutson says that the petition and any other letters or communications-- should 
be sen to Frof. W. H. Giedt, Ch. of the Corar.. on Academic Freedom, 211 Mechanics 
Bldg., and that a copy eight be sent to President Kerr. 

l.K!Vi.K->; TV v - CALll OKN1A Lf.irj.J lur 


*rch 13, 1963 

Professor J. H. Htynolda, 
Ccsnittee on Academic Fraadoa 

Acadeaic Senate, Box-there flection 

Hear Professor Reynolds: 

Z WE tranaadtting herevlth a cooaunlcatlon frcn the Department 
of History to the Academic FieaiVsi CosxLtta* of the Senate. Die statement 
vas Adopted at the Department s anting of 8 Ifcrch, 1963, by -rot* of 

27 to 1, vith tvo abrUntion*. 

Z should like to add for jrour consideration fev elements in the 
situation not contained in the departnental cosauni cation: 

(1) The History Colloquium ! neither a required academic exercise 
nor a public function. Invitation IB by caapus mall to the faculty 
and by post-card to the students* In the interests of active par 
ticipation by students, colloqula are not announced on tjny University 
Calendar or to the general public. The topic of each colloquial is 
presented by a speaker, vho also Trmnslly leads the discussion sxong 
faculty and students. 

(2) Outddc speaker E are invited to a colloquium only after vrltten 
notice has been sent to the tenure members, with the request that 
any objection be registered before a certain date. This procedure 
v&s fcllovod in the case of the colloquium for Dr. Apthefcer. One 
ne&ber subsequently reported not receiving the notification In this 
Instance, though he did not specifically dissent from the invitation. 

(3) ?te Chancellor, in apprising B* by telephone on Saturday, February 16, 
1963, that the collcxjulun could not be held on caspus, Invoked both 
Keguifition 5 and the interpretations thereof as sumnsrlEed in the 
University BnT " rtin. February 13, 1962, pp. 131-132. The Chancellor 
in his conversations with ae at no point denied the educational 
character of the eolloquiusi, and in general shoved understanding 
for the Ifepartaent s position while feeling obliged to deny the use 
of University faculties. 

(H) The Chancellor made his decision on the basis of an administrative 
policy in which politics has primacy. While the Chancellor did not 
cite it specifically, the relevant policy vould seen to be that ex 
pressed in Regulation 5 aad interpreted by President lerr as follovs : 

to prevent exploitation of its .the University s prestige by un 
qualified persons or by those vho vould use It as a platform for pro- 
pagenda. The latter phrase has been specifically interpreted by 
vord and by practice to exclude speeches by aeabers of the CcEsmnlst 
Fartgr of the U.8.A." (President Clark Kerr, Beport to the Beoants. 
Deccbr 15, 

Professor J. E. Reynolds page 2. 

(M con t. The Department, on the other hand, is guided by a 
policy in vbcih educational and scholarly alms must necessarily 
nave primacy. On this occasion, the two policies political 
and educational -- cane into clear conflict. The Department vas 
forced either to cancel a legitimate educational function or to 
reduce it to an "off-campus" activity. Beither choice vas happy, 
but the latter vas, I believe, the only correct one by professional 
academic standards. Sinoe tiae did not permit full consultation 
of the tenure umbers, Z bear the responsibility for the decision 
to remove the meeting to Stiles Ball. 

(5) As the logical corollary of the position taken above, it seemed 
to ae essential to maintain the scholarly and non-public character 
of the Colloquium once it vas removed free the campus. Thanks to 
the cooperation of faculty, students and the authorities of Stiles 
Hall, this proved to be possible. The colloquium vas marked by 
normal scholarly discussion, like any other, despite tbe unaccus 
tomed off-campus setting in which it vas held. 

Respectfully submitted, 

Carl E. Schorske 

CS:fc"D Chairman 


cc: Chancellor Edward W. Strong 


To the amende Fgecdoa; 

ir ! 

tte De-p of Historv .ini on Msrch 8, 1963, voted to call 

.litrr.tio i to 

A yaa? > story invited Professor Troukhariovskii 

2Z I^lli> ^ f: 8p i " :;C * * 

n of hi atopy preduaiis students and faculty 

pic t which r> i ofes3or Troukhn- 

.. .//<*:, an? ion ws not un-> that permitted him 

"aa a pl&iiiorw f c : =," rhoupfi it nay be assumed 

: :khJ.nov- j.f-\, the University administration 

consider ^l-.e <.-c-l J.oqu ivan a violation of Regulation Wumber "> 

? mt o "iatory invited DTo Herbert Aptheker 

to s|i3ct- cn rhr- fvl ;eot of /;n; ilecro hlstoriogrwphy to a colloquium of 

jry Kfai < .jrtta ar:d fa col : : : Alumni Houses Dr . Apthokor is 

eiiitor of t eoreti<3 mafasir.a Political Affairs, H<? altjo holds 

University snci Ja author oF^^ier i can Hegro Slave 
A Dc Cuiaen^nry 1?*.3 tory of ttie . egrn People fn ijie UniteH 
& addlt;ion,~he" has wrfKcn s 978i > aT~aFort s tucli es of" tne" Negro in 

ion, ir the abolitionist movement, and in the Civil WH 
raphy, f.herefore , is obvious iy a 4 ,oolc on which Fr. Apthsker 
.i . i.; apeak; p. , h- repMs^nta a point of view with which 

ts working in American history nead to be fsnsiliaro Tre reasons 
j-of jssor TtoukhanovsMi and tc* Apthsker, and the circumstances 
Tneetii>prs, were idnticsl In both cas3 the pyaduatw students and 
nf the History fippartriant were rsrspargd for scholarly conti 

-.tted to ob % 1e^tive exploration rather than political debate o 
Two days be f : IVv Aptheke:: ws tc apeak (Febrc^iT 1^. 1963), Professor Carl 

L; ,-fcii Li t;:t- [.vpartramfc of History, received notice from the 

i thi? BopfivtTTTent 3 Jr.vitetion i- .hcker 

was a violate 

r.e last 

llT>r>5 te Stilfca 

> ie LttpartiTitr.u of : scory r.hat tl 

. : . sbovfi i-.>fv,;;r;<-u- vi a,? -p. cDear 

.an Itsclfc "l^e func uh& Un. 

..ic the regulation, "is to seek and trvtnsKt knowledge sno 
lite procesa whereby trctt; is to be Mads known Tli.? 

. rounded upon fait,, ^lli^ence and knowledfw nnd it inust 

ee operation, I", rsust; r ombat -^rt?r- H 

. a waj r -.j : O ; . . > eanpua 

.3t hiatorJsn ard a p^-oup o.T lilatcry scradvur 5 : e stwienta ie, 
serious vlo.iitLion of fMwdendLc freedom* 

. ly request thati Vy; f. ; on 

^ and cons! 

nplicar ,ty 

.cm }m\< 

. : 
T ? 


: 0/ Public Injormatwn 

TH 5-6000. -Ext ^7S4 

/ .j ^* "<* ! Otv 

7/22/63 Albrook 



Berkeley Following Is the text of introductory remarks by Professor 
Carl E. Schorske, prepared for delivery in connection with the appearance 
of Albert J. Lima at Wheeler Auditorium on the Berkeley campus of the 
University of California today (Monday): 

The interest in this meeting has been high. Both on and off the 
campus, people see it as a turning point in the history of our Univer 
sity. Why? Some erroneously believe that, for the first time, a 
Communist may now speak on campus, and that students will now be 
"exposed" directly to Communist ideas. In fact, students have long been 
expoeod to these ideas through Communist writings. Moreover, foreign 
Communists hove been permitted to speak on campus. So far as Communism 
is concerned, this meeting inaugurates a change only in that an 
American Communist can now present his ideas in person to the University 
community. Our students and faculty can consider, test and weigh 
these ideas man-to-man, rather than merely men-to-book. In this sense, 
Mr. Lime s presence here today has its educational importance in 
enlarging the ways in which our students can acquire knowledge about 
Communism rather than in opening such knowledge to them for the first 
time . 

In a ier^er sense, however, the meeting acquires its significance 
from the fact that the Regents, by their resolution of June 21, have 
affirmed that self -defining freedom of inquiry on which any university 
must rest. Political anxiety about the students has given way to 
intellectual confidence in the students. The Regents have wisely 
lifted the "ban," not negatively, but positively in their resolution: 

"The Regents of the University have confidence in the students 
of the University and in their judgment in properly evaluating 
any and all beliefs and ideologies that may be expressed in 
University facilities by off-campus speakers. This is in the 
best American tradition." 

So it is in the best American tradition. For ours is a nation 
which was among the first to raise a time-honored principle of the 
universitythe faith in a free exchange of ideas into a principle 
for a whole society. 

It is gratifying to see the reestablishment of that principle 
in the University of California in the form of an untrammeled "Open 
Forum Policy." We thus join the ranks of America s great institutions 
of learningHarvard , Minnesota, Yale, Wisconsin and many others in 
offering our students, without fear or favor, all that the world holds 
in the way of ideas. We know that, whatever their beliefs, the students 
will receive these ideas both respectfully and critically, in the time- 
honored tradition of scholarly life. 


July 23, 1963 

* y-? . 

Professor Carl E. Schorske 
Department of History 
3303 Dwinelle Hall 

Dear Professor Schorske: 

Now that the "ordeal" Is over I want to express my sincere apprecia 
tion to you for taking on this extremely difficult chore of moderating 
the Lima meeting. 

I have read your thoughtful opening remarks and have heard from mem 
bers of my staff and others who were present how well you handled the 
entire proceeding. The continued success of the open forum policy 
depends on the conduct of the programs, and I am delighted that this 
first one went so smoothly. That it did was largely due to your 
actions, and you have my sincere thanks. 


E. W. Str 



July 30, 1963 

Chancellor Edward W. Strong 
University of California 
3335 Dwlnelle 

Dear Chancellor Strong: 

This is to thank you for your generous words of appreciation 
concerning my moderating the L" i" t meeting. Thanks to the help 
of the public information office and the maturity of the stu 
dents vho attended the nesting, the chore proved to "be not at 
all difficult. 

I should Uta? to take this occasion to thank you for your 
role in lifting the qualifications on the open forum policy. 
After learning from Mrs. Strong about the telephone campaignc 
to which you have been subjected, I anz-arc sensible than ever 
the selflessness that vas Involved in yovr championship of 
a full open forum policy. 

Sincerely yours, 

Carl E. Schorske 



President o] the University 












Jfcly 26, 1963 

Mr. Sidney 3. VatU 
2371 tnoxvllle Avuue 
Long, California 

Dear Mr. Watts: 

Dr. Max Rafferty has forwarded your letter 
of July 20 to oe for 

Albert J. Lima s recent speech on the 
Borkelay caqpuc of the University of California. 
uas oponr.orod by STATE and tike V. E. B. 
DuBois Clut>, botli of wliicli are off-conpus 
&tuder.t Oi-^Uilaatioat . To iuplfeBei/t Uni- 
vercitv policy, th= meeting xt itouernte,! 
by Dr. Carl E. Schorske, a profosor o 
on llii. Berkeley o 

Ycur li.t*rest ir. the University is 


- yoora, 

Clark Kerr 

cc : Dr. Max Bafferty 
Chancellor 3tronc 

^ be: Dr. Schorske (Via Chancellor Strong) 





Prnidtn , 

V Kt Prriljrntt 


5f i rria tri 



Honorary Ljfe Mernkrrt 




Aftttr MrmtT i 

J. CLAYTON OUR. Ckjirmai: 



DA\ n> BLACK* t L i 

Icon R Bi AKI 

El>* ARM C. CHAM : i P 

I.AHV Coi : i--i 

JOHN NX . Co* i I 

UAKI Dlb! NIDII 11^ 

JAMIS \X . DlFlni(H ,!n. 
HM>I>II> I Fm 11- 
I.IC.IM tLmi lM. 

CHAIII !. VX Fi Mini. .In 


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j. RlCHAKU jOHN^lt)N 

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1 . .1 Ki x; I, 

Cl ARK K i S t 
Ml .,N 1 Kill .: I !. 

I..MV r !.<.. 

C, JAVI- 1 I ! 
KlNMlM U M(.t!M. 


JOHN H ()i I. i 

Blum. PriF-- 

RohiH * . KAILLII I 

>X |LLIAM M . Rf H 
\\ . Hi P . N Hi MV( > : 

^C IL: i ^M F SMM >. 

G: f< Si A i GUT i R 

JOHN A. M-R -: . 

Rohl RI G. SfRt i i 



E: M- ARII \V. SlRUSl. 

>X |LLIAM E. \X A^ll 


July 29, 1963 

Professor Carl E. Schorske 
3303 Dwinnelle Hall 
University of California 
Berkeley 4, California 

Dear Professor Schorske: 

I write to commend you for your public 
service in chairing the meeting last Monday 
at which Mr. Lima spoke. Your motives and your 
role in doing this are bound to be misunderstood 
and misinterpreted by some. I hope there are many 
more of us who know and appreciate your real dedi 
cation to freedom which, I am sure, motivated you 
to place yourself in this position. 

It is certainly a pleasure to be able to 
reply, in this way, to the kind note which you 
sent to us when Stiles Hall opened its doors to the 
History Department Colloquium a few months ago. 


} / . v ; . -/ 

. -x y . ^ -. / i , , 

"William J. Davis 


General Sf(te:a r ) 


Prtji am .V/.f 





Per: Tir.. 




O fat Si** 



I - 

*- ^ - July 31, 1963 

Mr. Wlllian J. Davis 
Stiles Bull 
2toO Bancroft Way 
Berkeley U, California 

Dear Mr. Davis: 

Thank you very much for you kind note. 
Your prediction was right: the unfavorable 
returns are coming in; but no one interested 
in civil liberties can escape tliis sort of 
thing. I know that you agree that the price 
is pretty small considering what is at stake, 
nevertheless, it is certainly cheering to 
get expressions of support from people like 

Sincerely yours, 

Carl E. Schorske 




KAKELEY: Office of the Chancellor 
November 19, 1963 


The Regents In their June meeting modified the University 1 * policy on 
off-campus speakers. Their resolution reads: 

The Regents of the University of California have confidence In 
the students of the University and in their judgment In properly 
evaluating any and all beliefs and Ideologies that may be expressed 
in University facilities by off-campus speakers. This Is in the 
best American tradition. 

Therefore, the Regents approved the following policy for off-campus 
speakers: Any off-campus speaker may be allowed to speak on a 
campus of the University in accordance with the policy set forth 
In the University regulation on the "Use of University Facilities." 

Whenever the respective Chancellor considers it appropriate 

In furtherance of educational objectives, he may require any or 

all of the following: 

1. That the meeting be chaired by a tenure member of the faculty. 

2. That the speaker be subject to questions from the audience. 

3. That the speaker be appropriately balanced in debate with a 
person of contrary opinions. 

On the campuses of the University of California, when off-campus speakers 
are discussing political, social or religious Issues, the meeting will 
be chaired by a tenure member of the faculty, and the speaker will ee 
subject to questions from the audience. 

Undoubtedly there will be meny meetings on the Berkeley campus for 
which faculty moderators wl 1 1 be needed. So that the burden will not 
fall too heavily on a few, and to aid students In finding moderators 
for their meetings, I am requesting that you furnish me, by November 
25, names of those tenure members of your department or staff 
you think will be willing to serve occasionally as moderators. 

E. H. Strong 



BY CASL E. SCHOKBK*, Vwernty of California, Berkeley 

"I~ S HE professional assodation and public 
Jl issues": why is the topic before us? A so 
cial crisis has placed it there. 

That communities so secure in their sense of 
purpose and function as learned associations are 
falling victim one by one to anxiety, self-doubt, 
and explosive internal criticism attests in itself 
to the gravity of America s condition. For ours 
u an Enlightenment society, constructed on the 
premise that the progress of society and the 
progress of mind are interdependent. When the 
society divides over the value and function of 
learning, when the academy divides over its vo 
cation and its social responsibility, it is safe to 
conclude that a republic founded like ours on 
faith in reason is not in good health. 

Every province in the world of scholarship 
must find its own way to meet the crisis of learn 
ing in which we are all involved. I can offer little 
more than reflections on the evolving relationship 
of scholarship to public life. Out of the contrast 
of past experience and present context, perhaps 
we can see more dearly bow to sunder the useful 
from the obsolete in our inheritance. Against this 
background, we can then assess the relevance for 
the MLA of actions by other professional organ 
izations to revitalize their scholarly ethos to meet 
the modern crisis. 


Scholars have ever been conscious of holding 
dual citizenship. They are citizens of a civil pol 
ity and citizens of the republic of letters. The 
two communities overlap, but they are not the 
same in their purposes, their canons of behavior, 
and their ultimate commitments. Traditionally, 
the two republics of politics and of learning have 
organized their relationship under something like 
the Gelasian theory that governed Church and 
State in medieval Europe. Spiritual power and 
temporal power each had its proper sphere and 
wielded its own sword, while each supported and 
served the other in its proper function. The voice 
of the republic of learning is raised in matters of 
politics only when its vital interest is affected; 
that is, the pursuit of troth by the use of intel 
lect. The polis, for its parts, violates the immu 
nity of the scholarly world only when the latter 

An addreu delivered t the Plenary Meeting of the 
MLA Standing Committee* in New York, 28 March 

acts in an illegal way. Immanuel Kant, in his at 
tempt to clarify the relations between scholarship 
and politics, distinguished between reason in its 
universal employment, and reason in its civil or 
religious employment. In the first, the governing 
principle was "dare to know"; in the second, 
"argue as much as you want, but obey." Under 
these two principles, the two republics con 
fronted each other with different commitments 
but could live together in uneasy mutual tolera 

In the 1780 s, while. Kant was articulating his 
ideas of scholarly-political relations, the young 
American republic was engaged in a fever of ed 
ucational experiment. It was groping for means 
to achieve a far closer integration of the republic 
of letters and the civil republic than had ever 
been attempted before. With all due allowance 
for the powerful religious ingredient in the mak 
ing of American civilization, our polity was con 
ceived in the Enlightenment and built upon its 
premises. Under the historical perspective of the 
Enlightenment, the progress of society and the 
progress of mind are one. While religion is re 
duced to a private affair, the life of the mind is 
elevated into a public concern. Enlightenment so 
ciety makes the principle of scholarship ration 
ally controlled innovation its own principle of 
development For good or for fll, the distinction 
between the republic of learning and the chril re 
public becomes blurred as the two spheres move 
toward concentricity. 

The substantive content of the rational philos 
ophy of the Enlightenment further reinforced 
the integration of the scholarly and the civic 
realms. Science or natural philosophy and the 
study of man were conceived under a single 
principle, that of immanent rationality, which the 
scholar would disclose. Scientific reason and nor 
mative reason collaborate to the same end ; tech 
nical and moral progress proceed together, each 
reinforcing the other. That is why the institution 
of learning is assigned not only technical and 
service functions, but also moral and metaphysi 
cal functions earlier performed by the Church. 
Alma mater is the American successor to Mother 
Church, Mater et Afagittra. The scholar Is 
looked to as moral teacher and guardian, as well 
as scientist, increasing both his responsibility and 
his temptation. 

There were two kinds of integration In the 



Projcssiond Ethos and Public Crisis: A Historian s Reflections 

Enlightenment one of the academy and society, 
the other of the natural and humanistic sciences. 
Though never complete, the strength of the inte 
grations in America was sufficient to produce a 
powerful civic tradition of claim for scholarly 
service, technical and moral; and an equally 
powerful scholarly tradition of claim to a role in 
the definition of the public weal. The traditional 
dual citizenship of the scholar seemed reduced to 
a distinction without a difference. On both sides, 
civil and scholarly, the guards were down. 


Toward the close of the nineteenth century, 
both society and scholarship took a new turn. So 
ciety began to discover that not all the fruits of 
scientific civilization were sweet, as the techno 
logical economy revealed its social cruelty. At the 
nrae time, the internal development of scholar 
ship made specialization an intellectual necessity. 
New forms of scholarly organization were de 
vised to promote it. The scholar became a 
professional. In the 1870 s and 80 s. 200 learned 
organizations were established, changing the ori 
entation of the man of learning away from the 
general cultivated public to his specialized schol 
arly peer group. As each discipline became orga 
nized into a guild with its canons, the old En 
lightenment unities broke down. The autonomis- 
tk tendencies of men of learning, dormant since 
the days of Kant and the early liberal struggle 
for academic freedom, appeared once more. The 
once unified community of learning became frag 
mented into a congery of specialized provinces, 
each living by its own discipline, dedicated to its 
own enterprise. The primary intellectual respon 
sibility of the scholar was neither to urbs nor to 
orbs, neither to his local scene nor to the great 
republic of letters, but to his professional peer 
group to other specialized scholars. According 
ly and this seems to me vital for our present 
concern the degree to which a scholar would 
consider the social or general human import of 
his work and vocation came to depend on the 
peer group, on the professional ethos of the or 
ganized discipline to which he was committed. 
The new professional did not go back to Kant s 
universalism when he revived Kant s autonomy. 
As be broke from the Enlightenment unities in 
the interest of substantive scholarly progress, he 
slipped unwittingly into both moral and civic ir 

Of course this was not apparent at the time 
when American scholarship was first organizing 
professionally. The confidence in the ulti 

mate order and coherence of the universe that 
pervaded liberal culture in the nineteenth century 
informed the development of specialized scholar 
ship as well. The nineteenth century, after til, 
was full of slogans reflecting a proud autonomy 
in plural standards which an era with less meta 
physical optimism could hardly dare espouse: 
"Business is business" "Krieg ist Krieg" "L*- 
trt pour I art": these maxims declare that each 
field shall operate under its own law, with no ex 
ternal referent, human or divine, ethical or meta 
physical. Let us not forget wertfreie Wiuen>- 
schaft, the scholar s version of laissti-faire, as 
a late addition to this list. Or "To pursue troth 
wherever it may lead." The scholar, like the boa- 
nessman and the artist, still had the sense that an 
inherent power for order in the world would ab 
sorb his product into its beneficent economy 
without his assuming responsibility for the pro 

To be sure, the actual behavior of the young 
professional associations shows the strength of 
social impulses beneath the specialist s intellec 
tual claims to autonomy. Franklin Jameson, the 
spirihu rector of the young American Historical 
Association, was committed to a rigorous histori 
cal positivism ; but behind it lay a democratic an 
imus against the patrician aristocracy of culture. 
He was determined to break the power of what 
he called the "elderly swells who dabble in his 
tory" by creating; a "professorial class." The ed 
ifice of historical knowledge could no longer be 
built by single individuals privileged with great 
leisure, but only by a corporate community 
working according to common scientific princi 
ples. Jameson set as a major aim of the AHA 
"the spread of thoroughly good second-class 
work," for on this both the progress of knowl 
edge and the dissemination of culture depended. 
History as Wisscnschaft implied the profes 
sional community in reciprocal service with a 
democratic polity at the expense of the elite. 1 

The early transactions of the Modern Lan 
guage Association reveal a similar integration of 
professional, scientific commitment and public or 
social concern. In 1887, when this association 
was in its infancy, Provost William Pepper of 
the University of Pennsylvania welcomed your 
fifth conclave in Philadelphia thus: "You call 
yourselves the Modern Language Association of 
America . . . You represent a new and aggressive 
force in education ; you are the leaders in the at- 

John Higham rt 1 , Hitlory, in Humanist* Sckoior 
fc> in Amtrie*. cd Richard SchUtter (Enjlrirood 
Cliff*, N.J.. 1965). pp. 6-25. 


Carl E. Schorske 


tack now being made on the stronghold of the 
classicists." Dr. Pepper was obviously convinced 
that the MLA was doing society s work in its de 
struction of "the rigid sway of an exclusive sys 
tem" classical education "kept up for the ben- 
efit of a small and exclusive class." The popula 
tion explosion posed a threat then as now: 
"(O]ur colleges are barely maintaining their in 
fluence and hold over the swarming millions of 
our population. Had not a wise heed been paid to 
the changing needs of our national life and rela 
tions, and to the changing aspects of our national 
thought, the influence of our colleges might have 
been far less than it is today." Upon this influ 
ence, Dr. Pepper asserted, "the future of our 
precious institutions depends." Hence be hailed 
the MLA as a development which brought the 
academic system "in closer touch with the intel 
lectual needs of our people." 1 

The authors of the papers in the early issues 
of PMLA suggest a similarly broad conception 
of the new professional s vocation. As you 
doubtless know better than I, the crusade against 
the classics was not narrowly utilitarian. In jus 
tifying the study of modern literature and lan 
guage, its advocates pressed their social and moral 
value as vigorously as their value of knowledge. 
The stress on Germanic pure science was paral 
leled by an evident populist zeal to analyze and 
preserve local dialects, minority group languages, 
and poetry which betrays that democratic love 
of the folk with which Herder had informed 
the German philological revolution. The scholar 
and the people were connected by a two-way 
street. The scholar absorbed and honored popu 
lar culture, while the folk was to absorb the lan 
guage and literature of the elite culture. One ar 
dent advocate of the democratization of higher 
learning urged the association to introduce the 
teaching of Old English philology in the elemen 
tary schools. "Let us convert the school-boards," 
he urged; let each of us become a priest and 
missionary in partibus infidelium."* 

Enough has been said to indicate that the new 
professorial class, with all its scientific detach 
ment, still defined its scholarly commitment as 
largely overlapping with its public function if 
not identical with it. The assumptions of the 
Enlightenment still held together the republics 
of learning and of politics, while expanded edu 
cation assured the progress of both spheres. This 
was as true for the literary profession as for the 
historical and scientific ones. Though learning 
was now corporate enterprise, it still implied a 
civic mission. 

Gradually, however, the terms of the relation 
ship between the learned and the wider society 
were changed. The metaphysical and moral 
premises of the Enlightenment were gradually 
eroded in favor of a frank instrumentalisrn or 
pragmatism. The innocence of the Age of Rea 
son, with its faith in universal culture, gave way 
to the innocence of the Age of Expertise, with 
its confident commitment to specialized research. 

Social developments reinforced the internal 
tendencies of scholarship toward the encapsula 
tion of the higher learning in professional com 
munities of experts. The transformation of our 
economy by science and technology created vast 
demands for scientific skills. They were called 
for not only to extend the miracles of produc 
tion, but also to mitigate the social disasters at 
tendant upon them. While the natural scientists 
developed new ties with industry, social scientists 
picked up the pieces as government advisors or 
civil servants. A moral impulse often underlay 
the scholar s entry into these new tasks of schol 
arship. Yet there was a great difference between 
being a professor-social reformer of the old 
school like John R. Commons and a New Deal 
bureaucrat. The old progressive served the dem 
ocratic society; the new one served the demo 
cratic state. The "value-freedom prevalent in 
the new professional ethic increased impercepti 
bly as the scholar became a servant of industrial 
or governmental bureaucracy rather than an in 
dependent agent pursuing self-chosen social 
goals. Because the bureaucratization of political 
life and scholarly service was undertaken in the 
interest of social reform and the war against 
Nazi tyranny, the slow transformation of the ac 
ademic intellectual into a "value-free" state ex 
pert was hardly observed even by the usually 
critical Left. 


The whole process has now caught up with us. 
The body social is deeply split over its destiny, 
and the academic community over its nature and 
public function. American society has employed 
science as the sorcerer s apprentice did his mas 
ter s magic, abetted by the scholars zeal for 
truth without consequences. The miracle of tech 
nological rationality is drowning us in goods and 

"Address of Welcome," Transactions tmd Ptoettd- 
mgs of Ike Ifodern Language Association of Amrricv, 
m (1887). 3-6. 

Francis B Gnnanere, "What Place Hi* Old English 
Philology in Our Elementary Schools?" Transactions of 
Itu Modern Latgtiagt Association of America, I (1884- 
85), 170-178. See alto Vols. i-m, passim 


Professional Ethos and Public Crisis: A Historian s Reflections 

exploding in computerized overkill, while our 
problem of poverty becomes problem of racial 
culture Because the society is so obviously de 
pendent on the educated and manned by the ex 
pert, penetrated by Mind, so to speak, the social 
crisis takes, for the first time, the specific form 
of a crisis of Enlightenment. The two loci of our 
crisis are the two traditional centers of civiliza 
tion itself: the city and the institutions of learn - 
inf. The two crisis strata are the ghetto Negroes 
and the intelligentsia those win the least edu 
cation and those with the most. They are in re 
volt against the hypertrophy of morally uncon- 
tained rationality, against learning ran amok. 
Small wonder that they often rebel against intel 
lect itself, in a kind of mindless passion. That is 
the negative reaction to the rule of passionless 
mind in imperial America. 

That a social crisis should come to focus in 
the question of the use and abuse of learning is a 
situation unprecedented in the history of learn 
ing because never has knowledge been the very 
stuff of power as it has become in modern Amer 
ica. The rfvoltis call upon the academic commu 
nity to cry out and rebel ; the right-wingers tell it 
to shut up and study. The Left appeals to the 
traditional moral functions in the academic 
ethos, the Right to the scientific and technologi 
cal-service functions. Each of these external 
claimants on the academy has its partisans within 
the walls, equally prepared to press the univer 
sity into the service of external power. 

What is to be done? In the face of society s 
division, the tendency of most of the academy is 
to accept the issue as it is posed, politically, and 
to answer it with a reassertion of its traditional 
immunity and neutrality. Kant s two republics 
are invoked again, in one of which we follow 
troth wherever it may lead, and in the other of 
which we argue but obey. This "dual-citizenship" 
solution may solve the problem for the individual 
scholar and for the university administration, but 
it no longer solves the problem for the profes 
sional community. Why not? Because it 
construes the problem falsely as scholarship ver- 
MT potties. 

I submit that the challenge of politics to the 
community of learning today should and does 
raise not a question of politics, though it does 
that too. but of scholarly ethos. What is before 
us is the consequence of the breakdown of the 
Enlightenment unity of instrumental and moral 
rationality; for the modern scholar, the conse 
quence of the value- free science his professional 
organizations were built to promote. Has the 

right tu pursue truth wherever it leads a more 
absolute justification than the right to pursue 
free enterprise wherever it kads? If not, what 
voice shall the scholar assume in preventing the 
abuse of learning? If the mixed economy comes 
to the organization of learning, bow can the indi 
vidual scholar be protected in his pursuit of 
truth? The scholarly community can determine 
the answer only if it recognizes a concomitant 
responsibility ; a responsibility for the implica 
tions of its findings for society and mankind. 
This, I believe, is the point of entry for profes 
sional associations into the public sphere. 

One would expect the humanists to be the first 
to face the moral challenge of the social crisis of 
learning. Instead the natural scientists have led 
the way. The American Association for the Ad 
vancement of Science (AAAS). after much de 
bate, entered the arena of public issues in a man 
ner directly related to the scholarly competence 
of its members. In 1960, its Committee on Sci 
ence in Human Welfare defined the rationak for 
such engagement as follows : 

[T]he scientific community should, on its own ini 
tiative, assume an obligation to call public atten 
tion to those issues of public policy which relate to 
science, and to provide for the general public the 
facts and estimates of the effects of alternative pol 
icies which the citizen must have if he is to par 
ticipate intelligently in the solution of these prob 
lems. A citizenry thus informed is, we believe, the 
chief assurance that science will be devoted to the 
promotion of human welfare. 4 

The committee separated the role of the scientist 
in political decision-making, where he is indistin 
guishable from other citizens, from his role in 
"science-related issues," where "the scientist and 
his organizations have both a unique competence 
and a special responsibility."* In pursuance of 
this policy, the AAAS Council in 1966 es 
tablished a Committee on the Consequences of 
Environmental Alteration, with the task of ex 
amining the effects of chemical and biological 
agents which modify the environment. This com 
mittee has, among other things, engaged the gov 
ernment in a searching scientific inquiry on the 
long-run effects of herbicides. Instead of the 
scientist serving the government as expert bu 
reaucrat, his professional community now orga 
nizes to serve the citizens, against their govern- 

AAAS Committee on Science in the Promotion of 
Human Welfare, "Science and Human Welfare," Sei 
ner, outxn (8 July 1960). 4. 

"Science and Human Welfare," Scirnet, cxxzn, 3-4. 


Carl E. Sckorske 


ment if need be. The committee is insistent but 
not aggressive. It "volunteers its cooperation 
with public agencies and offices of government 
for the task of ascertaining scientifically and ob 
jectively the full implications of major programs 
and activities which . . . affect the ecological bal 
ance on a large scale."* The scientists here repre 
sent no party but the party of humanity, at 
whose disposal their professional organization 
places their expertise. The controversy within 
the scientific professions over this new role has 
often been heated. But that too has helped to ed 
ucate the members of the profession to a broader 
conception of their vocation. 

The American Anthropological Association, 
after acrimonious debate, adopted a resolution on 
the Vietnam War in November 1966.* More im 
portantly, it has been exploring the ethical ques 
tions posed for the anthropologist by Ameri 
ca s world policy. It is not easy for the anthro 
pologist to win confidence in cultures which per 
ceive Americans as a master race. At the same 
time, like the natural scientists, the anthropolo 
gists have been involved in government work. 
Their involvement in planning for counterinsur- 
gency in Project Camelot led the AAA to probe 
its own ethos. Government employment, govern 
ment financing of research were only the more 
obvious targets of professional association in 
quest. The relevant committee reported that "the 
feeling is growing in all scientific fields that the 
researcher should be aware of the policy implica 
tions of his results, and furthermore should try 
to specify their legitimate use."* The inquest re 
sulted in a "Statement on Problems of Anthropo 
logical Research and Ethics," adopted at the 1967 
meeting. The statement begins with an identifi 
cation of the anthropologist with the party of hu 
manity, though for scientific reasons: "The 
human condition, past and present, is the concern 
of anthropologists throughout the world . . . Ex 
pansion and refinement of [our] knowledge [of 
mankind] depend heavily on international under 
standing and cooperation in scientific and schol 
arly inquiry . . . Constraint, deception and se 
crecy have no place in science." Academic insti 
tutions and their members, including students, 
"should scrupulously avoid both involvement in 
clandestine intelligence activities and the use of 
the name of anthropology as a cover for intelli 
gence activities." 10 I doubt that those who 
adopted this resolution knew that, in 1919, Franz 
Boas, founding father of the AAA, was censured 
and stripped of his membership in the associa 
tion s council because he publicly attacked two 

anthropologists who "prostituted science by 
using it as a cover for their activities as spies" in 
Mexico. 11 Under the pressure of America s new 
crisis of polity, the anthropologists seem to be 
developing a less governmental and more univer 
sal conception of scholarly responsibility. 

The anthropologists have also turned to bring 
their discipline to bear on the problem of war. A 
group of 350 anthropologists, believing that 
members of their guild "have both a moral and 
professional concern for the effects of war on 
the human species," petitioned the AAA for 
symposia on this subject. The papers and discus 
sion, along with some instructive history of the 
controversy over science and public issues, have 
been made available to the wider public under the 
title, War: The Anthropology of Armed Conflict 
and Aggression, edited by Morton Fried et al. 
(New York, 1968). Both the political problems 
and the intellectual potentialities arising out of a 
confrontation of an academic discipline with the 
political and moral dilemmas of the modern 
world are illuminated by this record. At the next 
business meeting of the AAA, it is planned to 
discuss anew the war and world politics as mat 
ters of practical urgency for American anthro 
pologists, whose professional lives are threatened 
with erosion as backward people shut out the 
scientific American in recoil against the ugly 
American. The experience of the AAA in ap 
proaching these issues has been tension-laden 
and arduous. But it demonstrates graphically 
how much any discipline has to gain in self-un 
derstanding when it dares to bring its light to 
hear on basic public questions. 


What are the common features b the ap 
proach of these two organizations, the AAAS 
and the AAA, to the public domain ? First, they 
have moved toward assuming some corporate re 
sponsibility to clarify the implications of their 

* "Science and Human Welfare," Science, (XV (17 Feb. 
1967), 856. 

"Science and Human Welfare," Science, cux (23 Feb. 
1968), 857-859. 

Kathleen Gough, "World Revolution and the Science 
of Man," in The Dissenting Academy, ed Theodore 
Roszak (New York, 1967), pp. 136-137. 

American Anthropological Association Newsletter, 
vm (Jan. 1967), 6. 

" "Statement on Problems of Anthropological Research 
and Ethics by the Fellows of the AAA." 

" George W. Stocking, The Parameters of a Para- 
diem: Franz Boas, the American Anthropological As 
sociation and the National Research Council " (Unpub 
lished MS.) 



Projesrional Ethos and Public Crisis: A Historian s Reflections 

sciences for society and, conversely, the implica 
tions of public policy for their sciences. Accord 
ingly, the scientists service to the state is being 
placed in the wider context of a public diaconate 
of scholarship. Second, the ethos of the scholarly 
community is being enlarged through debate, im 
pelling its members to be mindful of the general 
implications of their pursuit of truth. Third, no 
attempt is made by the organizations to subordi 
nate scholarship to political criteria. Instead, 
each scholarly community reminds itself that its 
primary allegiance is and must be to the party of 
humanity ; if that means debate or even conflict 
with political authority, so be it. Kant s "argue 
but obey" is no longer enough to save learning 
from abuse. But his "dare to know" proves ap 
plicable in a new contort. 

You may well ask whether the precedent of 
scholarly communities whose research is so 
dearly involved with the public domain has any 
implications for your province of learning. If lit 
erature reflects and can enhance the quality of 
life, then surely literary scholars, as a body, must 
have a concern to make the public aware of bow 
that quality is being rendered and assayed in lit 
erature. Not every scholar will engage in that 
task, but could not your community of scholars 
explore and report to the public on the problem 
of oar polluted culture including its flowers of 
evil? Just so has the AAAS tackled the problem 
of oar polluted eimiuuiiieuL 

A second, related area of inquiry is that of 
language. We all know that the Negro is resist 
ing learning "pure" English in the schools. What 
do we know about his language? Why don t we 
kara ft? The MLA of the 1880*s plied a two- 
way street between academic and folk culture. 
As a European historian, I know that every dem 

ocratic movement in the nineteenth century in 
Greece, Serbia, Bohemia, and the like bad as a 
decisive stage the convergence of philologist and 
folk, to bridge the cultural gulf that divided elite 
and people. Are your scholars and students 
learning about the language gap between the 
ghetto culture and ours, or between Puerto K- 
cans and Negroes? If not, perhaps the VtLA 
could reactivate its earlier interest, seoshiziDg 
the American citizens and urban officials to the 
possibilities of a creative integration of the sci 
ence of culture with society, and thus of one 
stratum of society with another. 

In these and other areas, the MLA would, I 
think, find the ways charted by the AAAS and 
the AAA the most promising. They reckon with 
all the historical realities. They neither retreat 
into Enlightenment optimism about the natural 
beneficence of knowledge, nor do they remain 
mired in the indifferentism of werlfrei* Wixten- 
schaft. They begin from the realistic premise that 
specialism is the modern form of knowledge, bat 
that the moral detachment integral to it is dan 
gerous both to learning and to life. These profes 
sional corporations face the obligation arising 
from this danger, and commit their resources in 
learning and research to clarifying iik.Ant 
scholarly aspects of public issues. Even at politi 
cal risk, they are learning to educate the public to 
the social and cultural dangers they discern. 
They are finding ways for the repubHc of learn 
ing to contribute to the civil republic according 
to its own nature end concerns, without being 
swallowed by politics. In short, they show that 
the general spirit of the Enlightenment can soil 
govern the behavior of the modern speciafiicd 
professional association in a way appropriate to 
the modern crisis. 

Reprinted with the permission of the 
Publications of the Modern Language 






The following persons have been nominated to serve on the Emergency 
Executive Committee authorized by the Berkeley Division of the Academic 
Senate at its meeting on December 8, 196U. 


D. Blackwell (Statistics) 

R. L. Beloof (Speech) 

R. G. Bressler, Jr. (Agricultural 


E. F. Cheit (Business Administra 

K. Davis (Sociology) 

S. P. Diliberto (Mathematics) 

L. S. Feuer (Philosophy) 


B. Friedman (Mathematics) 

G. M. Kuznets (Agricultural Economics) 

F. C. Newman (Law) 

H. N. Smith (English) 

J. R. Whinnery (Electrical Engineering) 

G. D. Berreman (Anthropology) 

C. H. Sederholm (Chemistry) 
S. Shifrin (Music) 

P. E. Thomas (Mathematics) 

G. B. Wilson (Speech; Dramatic Art) 

H. A. Bern (Zoology) 

V. Fuller (Agricultural Economics) 

J. J. Parsons (Geography) 

T. L. Reller (Education) 

E. S. Rogers (Public Health) 

W. Galenson (Business Administration; 

C. Landauer (Economics) 

C. B. McGuire (Business Administration) 
L. Ulman (Economics; Business Administra 

D. Votaw (Business Administration) 

D. I. Arnon (Cell Physiology) 

W. Galenson (Business Administration; 


S. M. Lipset (Sociology) 
C. B. McGuire (Business Administration) 
M. Meyerson (Architecture) 

G. J. Maslach (Mechanical Engineering) 

A. E. Hutson (English) 

C. W. Tobias (Chemical Engineering) 

M. H. Protter (Mathematics) 

A. Torres -Rioseco (Spanish & Portuguese) 

C. Landauer (Economics) 

E. F. Cheit (Business Administration) 
L. Ulman (Business Administration; 


W. Galenson (Business Administration; 


D. S. Shwayder (Philosophy) 



B J. Moyer (Physics) 

R. E. Powen (Chemistry) 

A. M. Ross (Business Administra 

S. A. Schaaf (Mechanical Engin 

H. K. Schachraan (Molecular 


C. . Schorske (History) 

J R. Searle (Philosophy) 

P. Selznick (Sociology) 


R. A, Cockrell (Forestry) 

A. M. Ross (Business Administration) 

A. W, Imbrie (Music) 

P. L. Morton (Electrical Engineering) 

E, 04 Segre (Physics) 

C B. Morrey, Jr. (Mathematics) 

L. Constance (Botany) 

G. Mackinney (Nutritional Sciences) 

J. R. Whinnery (Electrical Engineering) 

I. M. Heyman (Law) 

M. Chernin (Social Welfare) 
G. J. Maslach (Mechanical Engineering) 
P. Selznick (Sociology) 
J R. Searle (Philosophy) 
W. M. Stanley (Biochemistry; Molecular 


R. E. Powell (Chemistry) 
E. V. Lai tone (Mechanical Engineering) 
G. J. Maslach (Mechanical Engineering) 
J V. Wehausen (Naval Architecture) 
E. M. McMillan (Physics) 

D. A. Glaser (Physics) 

E. B. Haas (Political Science) 
J. R. Caldwell (English) 

E. R. Dempster (Genetics) 
W. M. Stanley (Biochemistry; Molecular 


H. N. Smith (English) 
H. Rapoport (Chemistry) 
H. G. Blumer (Sociology) 
S. S Elberg (Bacteriology) 
L Constance (Botany) 

H. McClosky (Political Science) 

B. J. Moyer (Physics) 

A. M. Ross (Business Administration) 

M, Schorer (English) 

S. Smale (Mathematics) 

D. A. Glaser (Physics) 

F. C. Newman (Law) 

E. F. Cheit (Business Administration) 

G. L. Turin (Electrical Engineering) 
J tenBroek (Political Science) 





A. H. Sherry (Law) 

R. E. Degnan (Law) 
I. M. Heyman (Law) 
S. Kadish (Law) 
D. W. Louisen (Law) 
S. Sato (Law) 

S. Silver (Electrical Engineering) B. Bresler (Civil Engineering) 

S. S. Elberg (Bacteriology) 
L* M Grossman (Nuclear Engineering) 
0. J, Maslach (Mechanical Engineering) 
B. J. Moyer (Physics) 

J. Tussman (Philosophy) 

W. R. Dennes (Philosophy) 

R. I. Smith (Zoology) 

D. Rynin (Philosophy) 

R. Y Stanier (Bacteriology) 

N. Jacobson (Political Science) 

T. Vermeulen (Chemical Engineering) W. H. Giedt (Mechanical Engineering) 

W, Balamuth (Zoology) 
L L Sammet (Agricultural Economics) 
R. N. Walpole (French) 
D. W. Jorgenson (Economics) 

R. C. Williams (Molecular 

B. Mates (Philosophy) 

J. A. Garbarino (Business Administration) 

J. D. Hart (English 

P. L. Morton (Electrical Engineering) 

E. 0. Segre (Physics) 


Department of History 
Dcceasber 6, 1965 

Proposal for History Faculty and 
Grmduate-Student Fsllovs* Group in Ictllctual History 

I. The Substantive Expansion of the History of Higher Culture. 

Intellectual history is a comparatively nev field deriving impetus from 
tvo sources: (l) The inherent , imperialistic propensity of history aa 
a discipline to colligate ever more disparate elements of human cultural 
behavior under the ordinance of time; and (2) the diminishing relevance 
of a historical orientation to the progress of meat non-historical 
disciplines. The second of these has, in the last tvo decades, placed 
upon historians a burden gravely taxing their capacity in fulfilling 
their role, both as scholars and as teachers. We need nev kinds of 
training to met nev tasks. 

The breakdown of continuity in tradition which developed in the arta in 
Trance about a century ago has now spread to almost all scholarly fields. 
Thus the history of philosophy which, in our student years, provided the 
central axis of a philosopher s training, has been crowded to the 
periphery of the discipline as the analytic and linguistic concerns 
acquire predominance concerns for which but a fev adumbrations in the 
work of past philosophers have any significance. Yet the philosophic 
systems of the past havo the greatest relevance to an understanding of 
the development of our culture and its values. Intellectual historians 
have become residuary legatees of philosophy departments as these lose 
their interest ic the sequential devclopnent of their discipline. 

In the field of economics, the situation is roughly similar. The history 
of econoaic doctrine, vhich used to be the crowning course in the under 
graduate curriculum and provided the smrran of the professional economist s 
erudition, has fallen so deep into desuetude and genuine irrelevance 
that economics departments find difficulty In manning the field. Again 
history as a discipline is becoming the residuary legatee. 

Literary scholarship underwent a siailar de -hi stori citation under the 
impact of the Nev Criticise, but here a healthy relntegration of the 
historical approach (at a far higher level then before) with formal 
analysis has overcome the difficulty. In the history of science, a 
similar reectablishment of historical and scientific-analytic synthesis 
has revltallted a field. Economic history (as opposed to the history of 
economic thought) has similarly experienced a methodological resurrection 
after a period of lejaentable consignment to the too-narrow confines of 
either history or economics departments. 

Besides the fields nov undergoing de-historiclzation or Just emerging 
from it, there is still a third group vhich has never been historical 
and is reaching the age vhere its ovn past becomes a matter of concern 
to it. There has been recently established an Association for the History 
of the Behavioral Sciences, anthropologists, psychologists and sociologists 

176 Page 2 

have become increasingly aware (whether in healthy maturation or patho 
logical necrophilia) of the significance of the work of their intel 
lectual progenitors. The history of education, social work and other 
professional fields has likewise drawn increasing attention. 

In all these groups of disciplines -- the de-historicized, the re- 
historicized and the newly historicizing -- the demand for competent 
scholars is mounting. Neither history departments nor the subject- 
matter departments can adequately train scholars in these hyphenated 
fields without a cooperative effort. 

II. The Problem of Training in the History of Thought and Culture. 

A. Existing precedents and programs. Training in the history of 
science has been the first to be devised to meet the problem which, as 
indicated above, is growing more widespread: to train a scholar both 
in the analytic skills of a given subject and in the synthetic and 
contextual method of the historian. At Berkeley the History of Science 
Program has become confined to the history department -- perhaps a bit 
too narrowly. In Economic History, both departments concerned have 
recognized that the subject may fruitfully be approached from either 
discipline, but that intensive graduate training in the other is basic 
to proficiency in the subject. While degrees are granted either in 
Economics or in History, the requirements of both departments are 
tempered to the interdisciplinary intellectual needs of the economic 
historian. Courses are cross-listed and faculty collaboration eminently 
successful. Unlike the sterile narrative-statistical approach traditional 
to economic history, the emergent practitioners of the field are sensi 
tized both to the cultural psychology of economic behavior (from history) 
and the theoretical foundations of economic profess (from economics). 

A third, not quite comparable area of successful interdisciplinary 
graduate education at Berkeley is in the Japanese area program. Here 
again, only regular departments offer degrees. But anyone who has 
sat in a doctoral examination of a Japanese specialist cannot fail to 
be impressed with the extraordinary range of the candidate s method 
ological equipment. This is but a reflection of the lively inter 
disciplinary learning which the Japanese scholars here have imparted to 
each other, and which is reflected in the kinds of questions which 
examiners pose to a candidate, whatever his departmental base. 

B. The need for expansion of interdisciplinary graduate training. It 
is surprising that, despite the acute need for what one might call 
hyphenated history programs (e.g., history-philosophy, history-economic 
thought, history-architecture, etc.), so few interdisciplinary programs 
have been devised. Precisely because the demands here are for regular 
training in the auxiliary discipline, the difficulty of devising such 
programs is minimal. Special interdisciplinary courses are not only 
necessary but perhaps even pedagogical ly undesirable. The need can be 
but satisfied by utilizing existing graduate seminars in two different 
disciplines. An intellectual historian who wishes to work in philosophy 
should be schooled in philosophical analysis of precisely the same 

riorooji kiwi vith which the bidding philosopher ! equipped. 80 tec 

the student of lltrtur who viha to develop the historical diaen- ., 

ion of bis discipline should r*c*lrt Knr trainiag in the hitorl*a 

craft, quit* apart from literary subject Matter. 


IB abort, the nbetantive need of hoi*r for solid interdisciplinary i 

suggest that v* introduce a far gr*tr fl.xiblllty in 

training, ttie can b* don* vlthottt *ttifi< vp nv 

littl* crtiT latr-deprtBntl planning on to* lin 
y th OOBOVie histoa-iaas n<5 th Jp*n are* 

lu 00*1 Vaartiiri in tb fllfl , tlwr* is an aeut* MBSB of 
In tte lofa*rg of a Mrlon duty. Xt tb* inUUoetoal historian ia 
Vidftly Ad oartfttlOy quippd in tas nld of Btnri history. If his 
to a* ajora thoroughly sehoolad in a Mo-blatoriaal 

baft vbaU to* loas of oanaral cndition in history 
ba afiBimlil fort 

X sifgBSt that, in tba hrpbanatad prograjai grmdaat* studants, at laast 
to mlstorjr, ba aakad to dairalop fMiillarity with tvo bistorioal fialds. 
o thai tba eoaWxtoal ssnsibilltlas b strwgthMMd by aosparatia 
aaaSymia. 4hns a stwdant in history and philosophy Might offar a field 
in ITtt oaaUuy Tranoa and 19th eantxory Oarsjany, and ba aakad to Aanon> 
atrcka bis oonnnnd of tha gnaral history and philosophy of both enlturas 
in Ua qpalifylnc ITMH, vith spacial attantion to tha problaBa of 
Mdaistlajrttiift tha aooial-fonetionsl dinensioo of philoaophy in the 
two wiHacr. Qraa tba stadant would acquire breadth by analytic eonpari- 
aon wtwr* a nora holistic approaefa would earry the danger of producing 
superficiality . Us erudition in a given traditional discipline would 
ba lee a than at present, but his enaamrd of skills to pursue new knov- 
voald ba alaarly greater. 

XXX. Tsoliaattone for general Mueetiop. 

A. A national need. Aside from the felt aeholarly need for the hyphen- 
JtaA ajtiproach to adranoed laaming in the history of thought and higher 
emlture , tbara exists a strong demand for teachers able and equipped to 

intardiaeiplinary instruction. Introductory courses in tha 
I ties and integrated social sciences present their sponsors vith 

staffing problems. We confront today a strange aituation in 
vteicfa the frontiers of scholarship snd the frontiers of college inetruc- 
tioa both danand nore rlgoroua and rich interdisciplinary eapacitiea, 
vhile graduate edaeation prorldes only that degree of breadth vhieb a 
aingla dlaaipllne offers. Man trained in history and philoaophy, sociology 
and litaaraturet anthropology end political science could sake a far nore 
oraatiw* response to tba national desands for genaral education ia the 
huMnitiea and aoeisl seieoces. In their teaching as ia their aobolar- 
ahip, ajajeb Ban vill be problea centered, not dieeipline or etbod 

B. A >er>algT need: Lover dirisioc general education. The ilsrsl npaent 


of general education prograa at Berkeley Bust surely suffer froc the 
fact tht the t*Aching assistsntships are alaost all organised oo disci 
plinary line*. The narrowness of the organisation (if not the ubrt*nc) 
of graduate instruction find* natural reflection in tbe departaentalisin 
of lovar division prograas. If graduate training were conceived on the 
line* suggested above, it would liberate nev energy for interdisciplinary 
undergraduate instruction. Moreover, it vould aake highly deeirable 
for the graduate student a teaching internahip of an interdiicipllnary 
character. Ixpanded general education of the undergraduate would enrich 
tbe interdisciplinary equipment end general eultiTatlon of the teacher. 
Participation in general education courses, which presently is often 
viewed a* a sacrifice, would, if it grev oat of a new conception of 
graduate training, becone an intellectual advantage. 

is no need for the general education courses to be tailored closely 
to the interdisciplinary progrea of the graduate student. Indeed, the 
graduate prograa should develop analytic capacity in two disciplines 
only and (at least for historians) faailiarlty with two national cultures. 
There aust be the greatest latitude in determining which coabinations 
of skills are best for the students not tight requirements. Breadth 

later; it can no longer be taught synoptlcally. Teaching in 
education courses, however, can provide the dimension of breadth 
to graduate education. In short, where the graduate training will eon- 
centrate nore on developing skills and less on erudition, the teaching 
experience will provide broad cultivation and a corpus of material in 
which the graduate student asy apply his newly analytic acquired equipment. 

A few general education courses for freshmen and sophomores In each major 
cluster of fields Humanities and Social Sciences might be staffed 
by students froa the interdisciplinary graduate training programs. These 
would bring together, as the integrated Social Science course presently 
does, graduate students from several fields, who learn as auch from each 
other as they learn from their professors. Resources presently absorbed 
in a multitude of departmental introductory courses could be redeployed 
into a ssallsi number of interdisciplinary field courses. Certainly 
history, English and philosophy should be able to devise one or two 
joint courses wherein a community of discourse and some academic skills 
could be Jointly conveyed to the lower division student. 

If. A Graduate Program in History and Culture. 


Out of the needs for nev forms of training to aeet the scholarly problems 
of the history of higher culture, Berkeley can develop a graduate pro 
gram in which teaching experience will be integral to the education of 
the graduate. In turn, the existence of a capable corps of graduate 
students with interdisciplinary interests and skills should contribute 
to the effective development of a lower division general education program. 

The graduate program could be conceived on a five-year basis, as follows: 


1st year: Fully supported year of study; Research seminars in 

tvo disciplines, plus Faculty group seminar. M. A. oral. 

2nd year: Fully supported year of study: Research seminars in 
tvo disciplines. 

3rd year: Teaching internship; take qualifying exam on pattern 
of Xoonosdc History or History of Science; i.e., with 
strong interdisciplinary emphasis. 

*th year: Teaching internship (cent.); begin dissertation. 

9th year: Fully supported year of study; complete Ph.D. dissertation. 

The program should be conceived as for Ph.D. candidates only. There 
seems no vsy to offer a meaningful M.A. vhen tvo disciplines must be 
mastered. The conceptual and cultural breadth will derive rather fron 
teaching than from formal graduate course work. The student should con 
centrate on acquiring analytic skills in seminars, but be left free of 
other course requirements. 

be fellowship holders admitted on a flYe year basis, 
though of course subject to dismissal for n on -performance at any stage. 
This implies that the University prorlde at least Wo years of support, 
justified by teaching in general education. Funds should be sought 
for the first, second snd fifth years. 

An imposing list of contributors to a program in History and Culture 
should attract excellent students. In the better liberal arts colleges, 
vhere interdisciplinary approaches to humane letters and the social 
sciences are strongly .developed, may of the ablest students hesitate 
to coasdt themselves to a single discipline in graduate school, but 
would be drawn to richer but no less rigorous program. 

Second, the status of comparative studies on the campus is now estab 
lished in the Institute of International Studies. For intellectual 
historians in particular, the coaparatiTe approach is invaluable, and 
ve should extend into the area of the humanities the foundations 
already laid by Professors Lipset and Apter in the social sciences. 

If ve preserve flexibility in programming and assure a continuous 
substantive scholarly basis for both the graduate program and the general 
education courses sustained by it, ve can greatly strengthen our at 
tractiveness to both the ablest and most sensitive graduate students 
sad to the foundations needed to support them adequately. A program in 
History and Culture properly devised has the singular advantage of 
integrating the teaching and learning experience for the graduate 
student, and unifying range and rigor in fields too prone to oscillate 
vildly betveen arid specialism and windy superficiality. It would also 
develop the scholarly basis for supporting a meaningful general education 
program, thus integrating learning at all levels from faculty to freshmen. 


T. The Trans-national Group* la Historical Studies 

Of tht history faculty who would wish to associate themselves 
with th program would constitute a group to choose the graduate fellovi 
advise tb* CD their plans of study, and administer their examinations . 
Funds should ba sought for student fallcnrahip support (first, second, 
Ad fifth FMra, T.a.) n for a faculty group avalnar, to be Joined by 
the flrat-xaar fellowa, sjaatlnc tvlce a aontb for dinner and the evenin, 
Ttie ttsilntr would oonearn itself with diceuaaion of historical works 
(work in progress and published work by the sjeabers and other historian: 
past and present) which ralae problem about the nature of intellectual 
blsjtorj and it* relation to other disciplines and to history in the lar< 
Both the dinner and the literature to be diaeussed at each session 
ba provided for each assjbsr out of the aesdnar s funds. These funds 
wcwild not be^ijd for_r]ji4se4 Jtiae- fron teaching. - 

lha croup prograH in iatelleetual history might well be Hatched by 
history group* with other aTanuas of approach. The possibilities of 
attracting excellent students and enriching their intellectual lives 
ours are sjany and Tsrlous. This proposal aay be only a beginning. 




Children : 
Education : 


Curriculum Vitae 

Department of History 
129 Dickinson Hall 
Princeton University 

New York, N.Y. 
15 March 1915 

Elizabeth Rorke 
14 June 1941 

Carl Theodore, 1942; Anne, 
John, 1952; Richard, 1960 

Home: 106 Winant Drive 
Princeton, NJ 08540 
(609) 921-3713 
FAX: (609) 258-5326 

Social Security: 


1945; Stephen, 1948; 

Columbia College, A.B., 1936 

Harvard University, M.A., 1937; Ph.D., 1950 

National Service: Office of Strategic Services, 1941-1946 (of which three 
years as Ensign/Lit. J.G., U.S.N.R.) 


Wesleyan University: Assistant Professor of History 

Associate Professor 

University of California, Berkeley: Professor 

Chancellor s Assistant for 

Educational Planning 

Dayton-Stockton Professor of History 

Director, Program in European 
Cultural Studies 


Visiting Lecturer 

Visiting Lecturer 

Princeton University: 

Harvard University: 
Yale University: 

Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales: 

Directeur d 1 Etudes associe 
College de France : Visiting Lecturer 







1980, 1984 


Council on Foreign Relations, Secretary, German Study Group, 1946-48 
Rockefeller Foundation, field project on revival of German academic life, 1950 

Museum of Modern Art, Historical Consultant on Vienna, 1980-81 

Centre Pompidou, Paris, Scientific Advisor for Vienna Exhibition, 1985-86 

Metropolitan Museum of Art, Consultant for American Aestheticism Show, 1985-86; 

Consultant for Herter Brothers Show, 1995 
Library of Congress, Consultant for Sigmund Freud exhibition, 1997-98 



Institute of Architecture and Urban Studies, Board of Trustees, 1977-85 
Institute for the Humanities, New York University, Board of Advisors, 1977-79; 

Executive Committee, 1986-89 

School of Architecture, Miami University, Board of Advisors, 1985-89 
Institute of French Studies, New York University, Board of Advisors, 1983- 


New School for Social Research, Enabling Committee, 1980-83 
Library of Congress, Council of Scholars, 1980-1994 
American Council of Learned Societies, 1981-84; Chairman, Executive Committee, 


Smithsonian Institution, Advisory Council, 1980-89 
Getty Center for Art History and the Humanities, Visiting Committee, 1990- 


Centre de Cultura Contemporania de Barcelona, Advisory Committee, 1992 -present 
Stanford Humanities Center, Advisory Board, 1993-1998 
Internationales Forschungszentrum Kulturwissenschaf ten (Vienna) , Chairman, 

International Advisory Council, 1993-present 
American Historial Association Council, 1964-68 

Chairman, Conference Group for Central European History, 1968-69 
Chairman, Modern European History Group, American Historical Association, 



Wesleyan University Press, 1950-59 

Philosophy and Public Affairs, 1971-82 

Central European History, 1972-76 

Princeton University Press, 1973-77 

Daedalus, 1977-90 

Psychoanalysis and Contemporary Thought, 1979-present 

History and Memory, 1989-present 

Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 1991-present 


Distinguished Scholar Award, American Historial Association, 1992 

Behrman Award in the Humanities, Princeton, 1980 

MacArthur Prize Fellowship Award, 1981 

Pulitzer Prize for General Non-Fiction, 1981 

Cross of Honor for Arts and Sciences, First Class, Austrian Federal Republic, 


Grand Prize of the City of Vienna for Cultural Education, 1985 
Ordre des arts et des lettres, off icier, French Republic, 1987 
[Festschrift] Rediscovering History: Culture. Politics, and the Psyche, edited 

by Michael Roth, Stanford University Press, Stanford, Calif, 1994 
Great Silver Medal of Honor for Service to the Austrian Republic, 1996 
Harvard Centennial Medal, 1999 


Wesleyan University, Dr. of Letters, 1967 

Bard College, Dr. of Letters, 1982 

Clark University, Dr. of Letters, 1983 

New School for Social Research, Dr. of Letters, 1986 

University of Salzburg, D.phil., 1986 

Miami University, Dr. of Letters, 1987 

State University of New York, Stony Brook, Dr. of Letters, 1989 

Monmouth College, New Jersey, Dr. of Letters, 1994 

University of Graz, D.phil., 1996 

Princeton University, Dr. of Humane Letters, 1997 



American Academy of Arts and Sciences 

Austrian Academy of Sciences (corresponding member) 

Royal Academy of Fine Arts, The Netherlands (honorary fellow) 


Institute for Advanced Study (Princeton) , Center for Advanced Study in the 
Behavioral Sciences, Wesleyan Center for the Humanities, New York Institute for 
the Humanities, Getty Center for Art History and the Humanities 


Guggenheim, Social Science Research Council, Rockefeller, A.C.L.S., Japan 
Foundation, MacArthur Foundation 


A. Books 

(with Hoyt Price) The Problem of Germany, Council of Foreign 
Relations, Harpers, N.Y., 1947. 

German Social Democracy, 1905-1917, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, 

Mass., 1955; Russell and Russell reprint, N.Y., 1971, 1976; Paper 
editions: John Wiley and Sons, 1966; Harper Torchbooks, 1972; Harvard 
paperback, 1983; German translation, Die Grosse Spaltung, Berlin, Olle 
and Wolters, 1981. 

Editor (with Elizabeth Schorske) , W. L. Langer, Explorations in Crisis, 
Harvard University Press, 1969. 

Fin-de-siecle Vienna: Politics and Culture, Alfred A. Knopf, N.Y., 
1980; Paper edition, Vintage, 1981; translations in Italian, Spanish, 
Dutch, Portuguese, German, French, Japanese, Hungarian, Rumanian; (in 

preparation: Czech, Russian, and Korean). 

Editor (with Thomas Bender) , Budapest and New York. Studies in 

Metropolitan Transformation, 1870-1930, Russell Sage Foundation, N.Y., 
1994 . 

Eine osterreichische Identitat: Gustav Mahler. Picus Verlag, Vienna, 

Editor (with Thomas Bender) , American Academic Culture in Transformation: 
Fifty Years, Four Disciplines. Princeton University Press, Princeton, 

Thinking with History: Explorations in the Passage to Modernism. 
Princeton University Press, Princeton, 1998; paper edition, 1999. 
(Translations in preparation: French, Spanish, Portuguese, Hebrew, 
Hungarian, and Japanese.) 


B. Articles; Chapters in Books 

1 . International and Political History 

"Eastern and Western Orientation in German Foreign Policy, " Virginia 
Quarterly Review (Winter, 1947) . 

"Two German Ambassadors: Dirksen and Schulenburg, " in Gordon Craig and 
Felix Gilbert, eds . , The Diplomats (Princeton, 1953), pp. 477-511. 

(with Franklin Ford) "The Voice in the Wilderness: Robert Coulondre, " 
ibid. . pp. 555-578. 

"A New Look at the Nazi Movement," World Politics. IX, No. 1 (Oct. 
1956) , pp. 88-97. 

2 . Cultural and Intellectual History 

"The Idea of the City in European Thought: Voltaire to Spengler, " in 
Handlin and Burchard, eds., The Historian and the City (Cambridge, 
Mass. , 1963) , pp. 95-114. 

"Die Geburt des Moeglichkeitsmenschen, " in Special Supplement on 
Sarajevo, Die Presse (Vienna, June 1964). 

"The Quest for the Grail: Wagner and Morris," in Kurt Wolff and 
Barrington Moore, Jr., eds., The Critical Spirit, Essays in Honor of 
Herbert Marcuse (Boston, 1967), pp. 216-232. 

"Professional Ethos and Public Crisis," P.M.L.A. , LXXXIII (1968), pp. 
979-984 . 

"Weimar and the Intellectuals," New York Review of Books. XIV, Nos . 9 
and 10, May 7, 21, 1971. 

" Ver Sacrum 1 im Wien der Jahrhundertwende, " Die Presse. July 1, 1973. 

"Observations on Style and Society in the Arts and Crafts Movement," 
Record of the Art Museum, Princeton University, XXXIV/2 (1975) . 

"Cultural Hothouse," New York Review of Books. Dec. 11, 1975. 

"Generational Tension and Cultural Change. Reflections on the Case of 

Vienna," Daedalus, Fall 1978, pp. 111-122. (French translation in 
Actes de la recherche en science socialies, April 1979) . 

"Freud: The Psycho-archeology of Civilizations," Mass. Hist. Society 
Proceedings, XCII (1980), pp. 52-67. 

"Mahler and Klimt: Social Experience and Artistic Evolution," Daedalus, 
Summer 1982, pp. 29-50. 

"Otto Wagner," Macmillan Encyclopedia of Architects. 1982, pp. 357-361. 
"Forward," Kandinskv in Munich. Guggenheim Museum, N.Y., 1982. 

Included in Thinking with History (1998). 


"Mahler et Ives : archaisme populiste et innovation musicale," in 
Collogue Internationale Gustave Mahler. 1985, (Paris, 1986), pp. 87- 

"Oesterreichs asthetische Kultur, 1870-1914. Betrachtungen eines 
Historikers, " in Traum und Wirklichkeit Wien 1870-1930 (exhibition 
catalog, Vienna, 1985), pp. 12-25. (English: "Grace and the Word: 
Austria s Two Cultures and their Modern Fate," Austrian History 
Yearbook. XXII (1991), pp. 21-34.) 

"Abschied von der 6f fentlichkeit . Kulturkritik und Modernismus in der 
Wiener Architektur, " in Ornament und Askese, Alfred Pfabigan, ed. 

(Vienna, Verlag Christian Brandstatter, 1985), pp. 47-56. 

(Translations: "De la scene publique a 1 espace priv6," in Vienna 
1680-1938 [exhibition catalog] [Mus6e de 1 art moderne, Paris, 1986], 
pp. 72-81; "Revolt in Vienna," New York Review of Books, May 29, 1986, 
pp. 24-29); "Revolta in Viena, " Saber (Barcelona), no. 11, Tardor, 
1986, pp. 47-53.) 

"Vienna 1900. An exhibition at the Museum of Modern Art," New York 
Review of Books. Sept. 25, 1986, pp. 19-24. 

"A Life of Learning," American Council of Learned Societies, Occasional 
Papers , No. 1, New York, 1987. Also in The Life of Learning, Douglas 
Greenberg and Stanley A. Katz, editors, New York and Oxford, 1994, pp. 
53-70. Abridged version in Lary May, editor, Recasting America. Culture 
and Politics in the Age of Cold War, Chicago, 1989, pp. 93-103. 

"Wagner and Germany s Cultures in the Nineteenth Century," Solomon Wank 
et al . , editors, The Mirror of History. Essays in Honor of Fritz 
Fellner , Santa Barbara and Oxford, 1988, pp. 171-180. 

"Science as Vocation in Burckhardt s Basel," Thomas Bender, editor, The 
University and the City, New York/Oxford, 1988, pp. 198-209. 

"History and the Study of Culture," New Literary History, vol. 21, 
1989/1990, pp. 407-420. 

"Medieval Revival and its Modern Content: Coleridge, Pugin and 
Disraeli," Ferenc Glatz, editor. Modern Age -- Modern Historian: In 
Memoriam Gyorgy Ranki , Budapest, 1990, pp. 179-192. 

"The Refugee Scholar as Intellectual Educator: a Student s 
Recollection," Hartmut Lehmann and James J. Sheehan, editors, An 
Interrupted Past. German-Speaking Refugee Historians in the United 
States after 1933, Washington/Cambridge, 1991. 

"Gustav Mahler: Formation and Transformation," Leo Baeck Memorial 
Lectures, No. 35, New York, 1991. 

Included in Thinking with History (1998) . 


"Museum im umkampften Raum, " in Wolfgang Hardtwig and Harm-Hinrich 
Brandt, editors, Deutschlands Weg in die Moderne, Munich, 1993, pp. 223- 

"Freud s Egyptian Dig," New York Review of Books. May 27, 1993. 
(Translation: Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales, 95, Dec. 

"Introduction," Geneva. Zurich, Basel: History, Culture and National 
Identity. Princeton University Press, 1994. 

"The Panovsky Conference: A Window on Academic Culture in the 
Humanities," in Irving Lavin, editor, Meaning of the Liberal Arts: Views 
from Outside, Princeton, N.J., 1995, pp. 373-383. 

"Pierre Bourdieu face au probleme de 1 autonomie, " Critique, Aug. -Sept., 

"The New Rigorism in the Human Sciences, 1940-1960," American Academic 
Culture in Transformation, Daedalus, Vol. 126, No. 1, 1997, pp. 289-309. 

" Begegnungen mit Herbert Marcuse" in Oskar Negt, ed. Keine kritische 
Theorie ohne Amerika, (Hannoversche Schriften 1) , 1999, pp. 122-131. 

Included in Thinking with History (1996) . 

INDEX--Carl Schorske 


Abosh, David, 69 

academic freedom, 29-33. See 

also loyalty oath, University 

of California; Aptheker, 

Herbert; civil liberties 
affirmative action, 127 
African-American studies, 104 
American Academic Culture in 

Transformation. Fifty Years. 

Four Disciplines (1997), 23 
American Academy of Arts and 

Sciences, 20 
American Civil Liberties Union 

(ACLU), 18 
American Historical Association, 

3, 12, 74; Willie Lee Rose 

Committee, 72 

Angress, Werner, 62-63, 69-70 
anthropology, history of, 59-61; 

anti-Catholicism, 6-7, 76-78 
anticomraunism, 1-2, 86, 128-130 
anti-Semitism, 3, 6, 7, 69, 75. 

See also ethnicity, Jewish 

anti-Vietnam War movement, 48-49, 


Aptheker, Herbert, 27, 28-31, 32 
arts education, importance of, 8 

Earth, Gunther, 65 

Bay of Pigs, historians respond 
to, 25-26 

"Berkeley Rebels, The", 123-125 

Berkeley, California, 5-6, 99 

Berkeley, UC. See University of 
California, Berkeley 

biology, discipline of, 113 

black studies. See African- 
American studies 

Borah, Woodrow, 15, 16 

Bouwsma, Beverly, 6 

Bouwsma, William, 6, 10, 55, 64, 
77-78, 133 

Brentano, Carroll, 7, 118 

Brentano, Robert, 7, 123 
Bressler, Raymond, 39 

Bridenbaugh, Carl, 3, 11-13, 25, 

55, 59, 66, 75-76 

Brown, Delmer, 5, 37, 38, 40, 41, 

Brown, Governor Edmund G. (Pat), 


Brown, Peter, 56 

Brucker, Gene, 10, 11, 14, 15, 16 

Byrne Report, 46, 87-90 
Byrne, Jerome, 46 

Catholicism, 118-121. See also 

anti-Catholicism; religion 
Cavell, Stanley, 9, 83, 133 
Cheit, Earl [Budd], 39, 44, 53, 


Cherniavsky, Michael, 2 
civil liberties, 17-18, 104 
Coblentz, William K. , 43 
Columbia University, 61, 112 
Colvig, Ray, 96 
Committee of Two Hundred, 38, 46, 

93, 100 
Communism, UC Berkeley lecture 

series on, 94 
Confucian China and Its Modern 

Fate; A Trilogy (1968), 84 
Constance, Lincoln, 25 
Curtis, Perry, 12, 55 

Darnton, Robert, 135 

Davis, Kingsley, 21, 129 

Davis, Natalie, 56, 135 

Dill, Marshall, 25 

Drinnon, Richard, 16-17, 18, 19 

Dupree, A. Hunter, 12, 55, 75 


Education at Berkeley. 100-103, 

educational reform. See Free 

Speech Movement, educational 

experimentation and; Education 

at Berkeley. 
End of American Innocence, The 

(1959), 84 
ethnicity, 75; German-American 

identity, 17; Jewish identity, 

17, 75 

Faculty Forum, 37, 93, 99 

Feuer, Lewis S. , 129 

Feyerabend, K.J., 82 

filthy speech movement, 47-48, 

Fin-de-siecle Vienna: Politics and 
Culture (1979), 130-132 

Foote-Meyer Report, 101 

Frank, Joseph, 135 

Free Speech Movement, 38-50, 86- 
100, 104-106, 109-112; Berkeley 
administration response to, 
44-46; cultural aspects of, 
78, 103, 107; December 8th 
Resolution, 27, 38, 42, 46, 
89, 90, 100; educational 
experimentation and, 53, 103, 
109, 112-118; faculty response 
to, 21, 40-42, 50, 56, 57, 87, 
92-95, 100-103; intellectual 
radicalism of, 50-54, 96-99, 
105-106; personal impact on 
Carl Schorske, 52-53, 86-87, 
97-98, 106-108, 130-131; 
precipitating events, 18, 25- 
33; press treatment of, 91-94; 
public reaction to, 43-44; 
Regents response to, 43-44, 
57, 90; relation to civil 
rights movement, 104; student 
involvement in, 35, 51, 95, 
97-98, 105, 118; University of 
California administration 
response to, 57-58; University 
of California systemwide 
response to, 87-88. 

Free Speech Movement (cont d.) 
See also: Committee of Two 
Hundred; Education at Berkeley; 
Faculty Forum, filthy speech 
movement; Foote-Meyer Report; 
Strawberry Canyon College; 
Tussman College; Yellow 

Fretter, Bill, 9, 25 

Geertz, Clifford, 60, 135 
Geison, Jerry, 82 
GI bill, 63 
Gillispie, Charles, 82 
Glazer, Nathan, 91, 129, 130 
Clock, Charles, 21, 129, 1?0 
Gollwitzer, Helmut, 96 
graduate students, 113-114, 

teaching assistants, 116-117. 

See also teaching 
Gray, Hannah, 72 
Grossman, Lionel, 135 
Gruen, Eric, 65 
Guttridge, George, 5, 25 

Haber, Sam, 65 

Hahn, Roger, 65, 82 

Handlin, Oscar, 13, 74-76, 132 

Harvard University, 3, 6, 56, 63- 
64, 112 

Hechinger, Fred, 91 

Heilbron, John, 65 

Heller, Elinor, 43 

Heyns, Roger, 53, 89, 99, 100, 
109, 113 

History, Department of, UC 

Berkeley, 62; appointments and 
promotion, 58-59, 63-69, 76; 
chairmanship of, 24-25; 
colloquium on the history of, 
11; departures from, 12, 55- 
58, 133-137; generational 
identities in, 10, 14; 
governance of, 58; 
intellectual historians in, 
10, 23, 134-135 


History, Department of, UC 
Berkeley (cont d.) 
intradepartmental politics in, 
11-14, 16, 70; "old guard", 
70; political differences 
within, 16, 18-20, 63, 74; 
recruitment by, 1, 3, 5, 59, 
70, 75; socializing within, 6, 
61; women and minorities in, 
69-73. See also graduate 
students; teaching 

History, discipline of, 9, 10, 
12, 13-14, 15-16, 20, 70, 80- 
81, 83, 137; and formalism, 
127-130. See also 
anthropology, history of; 
intellectual history; science, 
history of; social history; 
women s history 

Hollinger, David, 23, 78 

Huntington Library, 67 

Institute for Advanced Study 

(Princeton, NJ) , 134 
intellectual history, 10, 60, 81, 

intellectuals, public role of, 26 

Jennings, Richard, 39, 44 
Jordan, Winthrop, 65, 66, 71 

Kantorowicz, Ernst, 2 

Kennedy, John F., 25 

Kennedy, Van, 27 

Kent, T. J., 9 

Kerman, Joseph, 9, 83, 84, 133 

Kerr, Clark, 44-46, 57, 59, 87- 

88, 89, 91 

Knowland, William, 93 
Koch, Adrienne, 69, 70 
Kornhauser, William, 101 
Krieger, Leonard, 84 
Kuhn, Thomas S., 11-13, 55, 56, 

64, 65, 75, 79-85, 133 
Kundera, Milan, 132, 133-134 

Landes, David, 55, 56, 64, 69 

Lerner, Michael, 35-36 

Levenson, Joseph, 10, 65, 69, 76, 

Levine, Lawrence, 38, 46, 65, 71, 

75, 104 

Lima, Mickey [Albert J.], 31-33 
Lipset, Seymour Martin, 129, 130 
Litwack, Leon, 71, 123-125 
Loewenberg, Jacob, 4 
Loewenberg, Peter, 3, 14 
Los Angeles Times. 91-92 
Lowenthal, Leo, 9, 27, 101 
loyalty oath, University of 

California, 1-2, 28, 100 
Lyon, Bruce, 12, 55 

Mahler, Gustav, 108 

Malia, Martin, 6, 10, 37, 38, 41, 

64, 93, 99 

Marcuse, Herbert, 96 
May, Henry, 3, 4, 10, 19, 25, 30, 

59, 65, 78, 84, 99, 117, 133 
Meiklejohn, Alexander, 109 
Meyerson, Martin, 41, 45, 89, 

110, 126, 130, 133 
Middlekauff, Robert, 65, 67 
Morgan, Edmund, 66 
Murphy, Franklin, 90 
Murrin, John, 67 
Muscatine Report on Educational 

Reform. See Education at 

Muscatine, Charles, 1-2, 8, 9, 

101, 102, 129, 134 

Nagel, Tom, 111 

New York Times. 46, 56, 91-92 

Newman Center, 118, 119 

Ong, Father, 102-103 

Opera as Drama (1956), 9, 84 

Pacific Coast Historical 
Association, 13 


Parkinson, Thomas, 1-2, 8 
Pauley, Edwin W. , A3 
Paxton, Robert, 61-62 
pedagogy. See teaching 
Pepper, Stephen, 9, 33 
police activity, during student 

unrest, 57, 112 
Politzer, Heinz, 10, 133 
Princeton University, 3, 15, 56, 

69, 82, 98-99, 112, 122, 127, 

134, 135-136 
"Professional Ethos and Public 

Crisis" (1968), 36 
Progressive Party. See Wallace, 

Protestant Reformation, 120 

Rafferty, Max, 32 

Reggio nell Emilia, Italy, 34 

religion, 7, 17, 77-78. See also 
anti-Catholicism; anti- 
Semitism; Catholicism 

Riasanovsky, Nicholas, 10, 26, 134 

Rorty, Richard, 135 

Rosenberg, Hans, 75, 134-135 

Rosovsky, Henry, 1, 55, 56-58 

Ross, Dorothy, 72 

Rossman, Michael, 106 

Roth, William M. , 43, 46, 90 

Roysher, Martin, 105-106 

San Francisco Chronicle, 93 
Savio, Mario, 102, 125 
Scalapino, Robert, 22 
Schachman, Howard, 46, 101 
Scheiner, Irv, 31, 38 
Schorer, Mark, 8 
Schorske, Theodore Alexander 

(father), 17 
Schorske, Carl E., personal 

politics of, 17-18, 19 
Schorske, Elizabeth (wife), 5, 

32-33, 109, 113, 118, 136 
science disciplines, collegiality 

of, 23 

science, history of, 79-85 
Seaborg, Glenn, 44 

Seabury, Paul, 22 

Searle, John, 39, 53, 85, 110, 

111, 112 
Sellers, Charles, 27, 46, 101, 

123, 124 

Selvin, Hanan, 27 
Selznick, Philip, 27, 46, 101, 

sexual revolution/liberation, 47- 

48, 49 

Sheehan, James J., 3, 14 
Sherry, Arthur, 39, 41 
Slate Party, 18, 26-28, 30 
Smale, Stephen, 111 
Smelser, Neil, 109-110, 112, 113, 

Smith, Henry Nash, 3, 8, 18, 19, 

27, 36, 46, 93, 94, 101, 
social history, 11, 16, 71, 74-75 
social sciences methodology, 

politics and, 21-22 
sociology, 20 
Sontag, Raymond, 3, 4, 10-11, 13- 

14, 15, 25, 59, 63, 69, 70, 

101-102, 137 
Stampp, Kenneth, 5, 16, 17, 18, 

19, 25, 27, 30, 46, 59, 63, 71, 

74-75, 94, 101, 104, 111 
Stanford Center for Advanced Study 

in the Behavorial Sciences, 3 
State University of New York at 

Stony Brook, 61, 62, 70 
Stiles Hall, 32, 
Stocking, George, 59-61 
Strawberry Canyon College, 109, 


Strong, Gertrude, 32-33 
Strong, Edward, 29-30, 32-33 
student radicalism, 17, 48, 96, 

104, 112; official responses 

to, 51, 112. See also Free 

Speech Movement; Slate Party 

teaching, 114-118, 120, 121-123, 
125; of graduate students, 14, 
15, 70-71, 81, 98, 101-102, 
113. See also Free Speech 
Movement, educational reforms 


Third World movement, 37, 48, 49, 
103, 108. See also African- 
American studies; ethnic 

Thuringia, Germany, 34 

Tubach, Fritz, 108 

Tussman Experimental College 
Program, 100, 109 

universities, social role of, 33- 

University of California Berkeley, 

4, 5, 8, 21-22, 57, 79, 87-88, 
133, 136; Academic Freedom 
Committee, 30; Academic 
Senate, 30, 41; Alumni House, 

5, 68; anti-communism at, 30; 
Department of Anthropology, 
60-61; Arts Club, 8-10, 25, 
33; Budget Committee, 40; 
Department of Chemistry, 22; 
College of Environmental 
Design, 9; Emergency Executive 
Committee, 36, 38-43, 89, 90, 
95, 130; Library Committee, 

40; media representation of, 
123-125; Department of 
Philosophy, 12, 81-82; 
Department of Physics, 22; 
Department of Political 
Science, 21; "Rule Five," 30; 
Department of Sociology, 129- 
130, 130; social diversity of, 
4, 73-79, 127. See also Free 
Speech Movement; History, 
Department of, UC Berkeley; 
loyalty oath, University of 

University of California, 26, 32, 
44-45. See also Byrne Report; 
loyalty oath, University of 

University of Chicago, 60, 112 
University of Jena (Germany), 34 
University of Michigan, 113 
University of Pennsylvania, 60 

Vidlar, Anthony, 135 

Vietnam War, faculty responses to, 
22, 61, 69. See also anti- 
Vietnam War movement 

Wallace, Henry, 16, 17 
Washburn, Sherwood, 61, 136 
Webster, Richard, 65 
Wesleyan University, 1, 2, 4, 6, 

10, 69, 100, 112, 127, 136 
Westminster House, 36, 97 
Wheeler Oak Tree, 18, 
White Over Black. 66 
Wildavsky, Aaron, 21 
Wolin, Sheldon S., 46, 101, 137 
women, attitude towards, 71, 72 
women s history, 71 
women s liberation movement, 48, 

49, 70-73 
Wurster, William, 9 

Yale University, 112 
"Yellow Submarine," 112 

Zelnik, Reginald, 16, 39, 41, 46, 
65, 75, 94, 96, 101 


February 2000 


Documenting the history of the University of California has been a 
responsibility of the Regional Oral History Office since the Office was 
established in 1954. Oral history memoirs with University-related persons 
are listed below. They have been underwritten by the UC Berkeley 
Foundation, the Chancellor s Office, University departments, or by 
extramural funding for special projects. The oral histories, both tapes 
and transcripts, are open to scholarly use in The Bancroft Library. 
Bound, indexed copies of the transcripts are available at cost to 
manuscript libraries. 


Adams, Frank. Irrigation, Reclamation, and Water Administration. 1956, 
491 pp. 

Amerine, Maynard A. The University of California and the State s Wine 
Industry. 1971, 142 pp. (UC Davis professor.) 

Amerine, Maynard A. Wine Bibliographies and Taste Perception Studies. 
1988, 91 pp. (UC Davis professor.) 

Bierman, Jessie. Maternal and Child Health in Montana, California, the 
U.S. Children s Bureau and WHO, 1926-1967. 1987, 246 pp. 

Bird, Grace. Leader in Junior College Education at Bakersfield and the 
University of California. Two volumes, 1978, 342 pp. 

Birge, Raymond Thayer. Raymond Thayer Birge, Physicist. 1960, 395 pp. 

Blaisdell, Allen C. Foreign Students and the Berkeley International 
House, 1928-1961. 1968, 419 pp. 

Blaisdell, Thomas C., Jr. India and China in the World War I Era; New 
Deal and Marshall Plan; and University of California, Berkeley. 
1991, 373 pp. 

Blum, Henrik. Equity for the Public s Health: Contra Costa Health 

Officer; Professor, UC School of Public Health; WHO Fieldworker. 
1999, 425 pp. 

Bowker, Albert. Sixth Chancellor, I/niversity of California, Berkeley, 
1971-1980; Statistician, and National Leader in the Policies and 
Politics of Higher Education. 1995, 274 pp. 


Brown, Delmer M. (In process.) Professor of Japanese history, 1946- 

Chaney, Ralph Works. Paleobotanist, Conservationist. 1960, 277 pp. 

Chao, Yuen Ren. Chinese Linguist, Phonologist, Composer, and Author. 
1977, 242 pp. 

Constance, Lincoln. Versatile Berkeley Botanist: Plant Taxonomy and 
University Governance. 1987, 362 pp. 

Corley, James V. Serving the University in Sacramento. 1969, 143 pp. 
Cross, Ira Brown. Portrait of an Economics Professor. 1967, 128 pp. 

Cruess, William V. A Half Century in Food and Wine Technology. 1967, 
122 pp. 

Davidson, Mary Blossom. The Dean of Women and the Importance of 
Students. 1967, 79 pp. 

Davis, Harmer. Founder of the Institute of Transportation and Traffic 
Engineering. 1997, 173 pp. 

DeMars, Vernon. A Life in Architecture: Indian Dancing, Migrant 

Housing, Telesis, Design for Urban Living, Theater, Teaching. 
1992, 592 pp. 

Dennes, William R. Philosophy and the University Since 1915. 1970, 
162 pp. 

Donnelly, Ruth. The University s Role in Housing Services. 1970, 
129 pp. 

Ebright, Carroll "Ky". California Varsity and Olympics Crew Coach. 
1968, 74 pp. 

Eckbo, Garrett. Landscape Architecture: The Profession in California, 
1935-1940, and Telesis. 1993, 103 pp. 

Elberg, Sanford S. Graduate Education and Microbiology at the 

University of California, Berkeley, 1930-1989. 1990, 269 pp. 

Erdman, Henry E. Agricultural Economics: Teaching, Research, and 

Writing, University of California, Berkeley, 1922-1969. 1971, 
252 pp. 

Esherick, Joseph. An Architectural Practice in the San Francisco Bay 
Area, 1938-1996. 1996, 800 pp. 

Evans, Clinton W. California Athlete, Coach, Administrator, Ambassador. 
1968, 106 pp. 


Foster, Herbert B. The Role of the Engineer s Office in the Development 
of the University of California Campuses. 1960, 134 pp. 

Gardner, David Pierpont. A Life in Higher Education: Fifteenth 
President of the University of California, 1983-1992. 1997, 
810 pp. 

Grether, Ewald T. Dean of the UC Berkeley Schools of Business 

Administration, 1943-1961; Leader in Campus Administration, Public 
Service, and Marketing Studies; and Forever a Teacher. 1993, 
1069 pp. 

Hagar, Ella Barrows. Continuing Memoirs : Family, Community, 

University. (Class of 1919, daughter of University President David 
P. Barrows.) 1974, 272 pp. 

Hamilton, Brutus. Student Athletics and the Voluntary Discipline. 
1967, 50 pp. 

Harding, Sidney T. A Life in Western Water Development. 1967, 524 pp. 

Harris, Joseph P. Professor and Practitioner: Government, Election 
Reform, and the Votomatic . 1983, 155 pp. 

Hays, William Charles. Order, Taste, and Grace in Architecture. 1968, 
241 pp. 

Heller, Elinor Raas. A Volunteer in Politics, in Higher Education, and 
on Governing Boards. Two volumes, 1984, 851 pp. 

Helmholz, A. Carl. Physics and Faculty Governance at the University of 
California Berkeley, 1937-1990. 1993, 387 pp. 

Heyman, Ira Michael. (In process.) Professor of Law and Berkeley 
Chancellor, 1980-1990. 

Heyns, Roger W. Berkeley Chancellor, 1965-1971: The University in a 
Turbulent Society. 1987, 180 pp. 

Hildebrand, Joel H. Chemistry, Education, and the University of 
California. 1962, 196 pp. 

Huff, Elizabeth. Teacher and Founding Curator of the East Asiatic 

Library: from Urbana to Berkeley by Way of Peking. 1977, 278 pp. 

Huntington, Emily. A Career in Consumer Economics and Social Insurance. 
1971, 111 pp. 

Hutchison, Claude B. The College of Agriculture, University of 
California, 1922-1952. 1962, 524 pp. 

Jenny, Hans. Soil Scientist, Teacher, and Scholar. 1989, 364 pp. 


Johnston, Marguerite Kulp, and Joseph R. Mixer. Student Housing, 
Welfare, and the ASUC. 1970, 157 pp. 

Jones, Mary C. Harold S. Jones and Mary C. Jones, Partners in 
Longitudinal Studies. 1983, 154 pp. 

Joslyn, Maynard A. A Technologist Views the California Wine Industry. 
1974, 151 pp. 

Kasimatis, Amandus N. A Career in California Viticulture. 1988, 54 pp. 
(UC Davis professor.) 

Kendrick, James B. Jr. From Plant Pathologist to Vice President for 
Agricultural and Natural Resources, I/niversity of California, 
1947-1986. 1989, 392 pp. 

Kingman, Harry L. Citizenship in a Democracy. (Stiles Hall, University 
YMCA.) 1973, 292 pp. 

Roll, Michael J. The Lair of the Bear and the Alumni Association, 1949- 
1993. 1993, 387 pp. 

Kragen, Adrian A. A Law Professor s Career: Teaching, Private Practice, 
and Legislative Representation, 1934 to 1989. 1991, 333 pp. 

Kroeber-Quinn, Theodora. Timeless Woman, Writer and Interpreter of the 
California Indian World. 1982, 453 pp. 

Landreth, Catherine. The Nursery School of the Institute of Child 

Welfare of the University of California, Berkeley. 1983, 51 pp. 

Langelier, Wilfred E. Teaching, Research, and Consultation in Water 
Purification and Sewage Treatment, University of California at 
Berkeley, 1916-1955. 1982, 81 pp. 

Lehman, Benjamin H. Recollections and Reminiscences of Life in the Bay 
Area from 1920 Onward. 1969, 367 pp. 

Lenzen, Victor F. Physics and Philosophy. 1965, 206 pp. 

Leopold, Luna. Hydrology, Geomorphology, and Environmental Policy: U.S. 
Geological Survey, 1950-1972, and the UC Berkeley, 1972-1987. 
1993, 309 pp. 

Lessing, Ferdinand D. Early Years. (Professor of Oriental Languages.) 
1963, 70 pp. 

McGauhey, Percy H. The Sanitary Engineering Research Laboratory: 
Administration, Research, and Consultation, 1950-1972. 1974, 
259 pp. 

McCaskill, June. Herbarium Scientist, University of California, Davis. 
1989, 83 pp. (UC Davis professor.) 


Mclaughlin, Donald. Careers In Mining Geology and Management, 
University Governance and Teaching. 1975, 318 pp. 

May, Henry F. Professor of American Intellectual History, University of 
California, Berkeley, 1952-1980. 1999, 218 pp. 

Merritt, Ralph P. After Me Cometh a Builder, the Recollections of Ralph 
Palmer Merritt. 1962, 137 pp. (UC Rice and Raisin Marketing.) 

Metcalf, Woodbridge. Extension Forester, 1926-1956. 1969, 138 pp. 
Meyer, Karl F. Medical Research and Public Health. 1976, 439 pp. 
Miles, Josephine. Poetry, Teaching, and Scholarship. 1980, 344 pp. 
Mitchell, Lucy Sprague. Pioneering in Education. 1962, 174 pp. 

Morgan, Elmo. Physical Planning and Management: Los Alamos, University 

of Utah, University of California, and AID, 1942-1976. 1992, 274 pp. 

Neuhaus, Eugen. Reminiscences: Bay Area Art and the University of 
California Art Department. 1961, 48 pp. 

Newell, Pete. UC Berkeley Athletics and a Life in Basketball: Coaching 
Collegiate and Olympic Champions; Managing, Teaching, and 
Consulting in the NBA, 1935-1995. 1997, 470 pp. 

Newman, Frank. Professor of Law, University of California, Berkeley, 

1946-present, Justice, California Supreme Court, 1977-1983. 1994, 
336 pp. (Available through California State Archives.) 

Neylan, John Francis. Politics, Law, and the University of California. 
1962, 319 pp. 

Nyswander, Dorothy B. Professor and Activist for Public Health 
Education in the Americas and Asia. 1994, 318 pp. 

O Brien, Morrough P. Dean of the College of Engineering, Pioneer in 
Coastal Engineering, and Consultant to General Electric. 1989, 
313 pp. 

Olmo, Harold P. Plant Genetics and New Grape Varieties. 1976, 183 pp. 
(UC Davis professor.) 

Ough, Cornelius. Recollections of an Enologist, University of 
California, Davis, 1950-1990. 1990, 66 pp. 

Pepper, Stephen C. Art and Philosophy at the University of California, 
1919-1962. 1963, 471 pp. 

Pitzer, Kenneth. Chemist and Administrator at UC Berkeley, Rice 

University, Stanford University, and the Atomic Energy Commission, 
1935-1997. 1999, 558 pp. 


Porter, Robert Langley. Physician, Teacher and Guardian of the Public 
Health. 1960, 102 pp. (UC San Francisco professor.) 

Reeves, William. Arbovirologist and Professor, UC Berkeley School of 
Public Health. 1993, 686 pp. 

Revelle, Roger. Oceanography, Population Resources and the World. 
1988. (UC San Diego professor.) (Available through Archives, 
Scripps Institute of Oceanography, University of California, San 
Diego, La Jolla, California 92093.) 

Riasanovsky, Nicholas V. Professor of Russian and European Intellectual 
History, University of California, Berkeley, 1957-1997. 1998, 
310 pp. 

Richardson, Leon J. Berkeley Culture, University of California 

Highlights, and University Extension, 1892-1960. 1962, 248 pp. 

Robb, Agnes Roddy. Robert Gordon Sproul and the University of 
California. 1976, 134 pp. 

Rossbach, Charles Edwin. Artist, Mentor, Professor, Writer. 1987, 
157 pp. 

Schnier, Jacques. A Sculptor s Odyssey. 1987, 304 pp. 

Schorske, Carl E. Intellectual Life, Civil Libertarian Issues, and the 
Student Movement at the University of California, Berkeley, 1960- 
1969. 2000, 203 pp. 

Scott, Geraldine Knight. A Woman in Landscape Architecture in 
California, 1926-1989. 1990, 235 pp. 

Shields, Peter J. Reminiscences of the Father of the Davis Campus. 
1954, 107 pp. 

Sproul, Ida Wittschen. The President s Wife. 1981, 347 pp. 

Stampp, Kenneth M. Historian of Slavery, the Civil War, and 

Reconstruction, University of California, Berkeley, 1946-1983. 
1998, 310 pp. 

Stern, Milton. The Learning Society: Continuing Education at NYU, 
Michigan, and UC Berkeley, 1946-1991. 1993, 292 pp. 

Stevens, Frank C. Forty Years in the Office of the President, 
University of California, 1905-1945. 1959, 175 pp. 

Stewart, George R. A Little of Myself. (Author and UC Professor of 
English.) 1972, 319 pp. 

Stripp, Fred S. Jr. I/niversity Debate Coach, Berkeley Civic Leader, 
and Pastor. 1990, 75 pp. 


Strong, Edward W. Philosopher, Professor, and Berkeley Chancellor, 
1961-1965. 1992, 530 pp. 

Struve, Gleb. (In process.) Professor of Slavic Languages and 

Taylor, Paul Schuster. 

Volume I: Education, Field Research, and Family, 1973, 342 pp. 
Volume II and Volume III: California Water and Agricultural Labor, 
1975, 519 pp. 

Thygeson, Phillips. External Eye Disease and the Proctor Foundation. 
1988, 321 pp. (UC San Francisco professor.) (Available through 
the Foundation of the American Academy of Ophthalmology.) 

Tien, Chang-Lin. (In process.) Berkeley Chancellor, 1990-1997. 
Towle, Katherine A. Administration and Leadership. 1970, 369 pp. 

Townes, Charles H. A Life in Physics: Bell Telephone Laboratories and 
WWII, Columbia University and the Laser, MIT and Government 
Service; California and Research in Astrophysics. 1994, 691 pp. 

Underbill, Robert M. University of California: Lands, Finances, and 
Investments. 1968, 446 pp. 

Vaux, Henry J. Forestry in the Public Interest: Education, Economics, 
State Policy, 1933-1983. 1987, 337 pp. 

Wada, Yori. Working for Youth and Social Justice: The YMCA, the 

University of California, and the Stulsaft Foundation. 1991, 
203 pp. 

Waring, Henry C. Henry C. Waring on University Extension. 1960, 
130 pp. 

Wellman, Harry. Teaching, Research and Administration, University of 
California, 1925-1968. 1976, 259 pp. 

Vessels, Glenn A. Education of an Artist. 1967, 326 pp. 

Westphal, Katherine. Artist and Professor. 1988, 190 pp. (UC Davis 
professor. ) 

Whinnery, John. Researcher and Educator in Electromagnetics, 

Microwaves, and Optoelectronics, 1935-1995; Dean of the College of 
Engineering, UC Berkeley, 1950-1963. 1996, 273 pp. 

Wiegel, Robert L. Coastal Engineering: Research, Consulting, and 
Teaching, 1946-1997. 1997, 327 pp. 

Williams, Arleigh. Dean of Students Arleigh Williams: The Free Speech 
Movement and the Six Years War, 1964-1970. 1990, 329 pp. 


Williams, Arleigh and Betty H. Neely. Disabled Students Residence 
Program. 1987, 41 pp. 

Wilson, Garff B. The Invisible Man, or, Public Ceremonies Chairman at 
Berkeley for Thirty-Five Years. 1981, 442 pp. 

Winkler, Albert J. Viticultural Research at UC Davis, 1921-1971. 1973, 
144 pp. 

Woods, Baldwin M. University of California Extension. 1957, 102 pp. 

Wurster, William Wilson. College of Environmental Design, University of 
California, Campus Planning, and Architectural Practice. 1964, 
339 pp. 


Blake Estate Oral History Project. 1988, 582 pp. 

Architects landscape architects, gardeners, presidents of UC 
document the history of the UC presidential residence. Includes 
interviews with Mai Arbegast, Igor Blake, Ron and Myra Brocchini, 
Toichi Domoto, Eliot Evans, Tony Hail, Linda Haymaker, Charles 
Hitch, Flo Holmes, Clark and Kay Kerr, Gerry Scott, George and 
Helena Thacher, Walter Vodden, and Norma Wilier. 

Centennial History Project, 1954-1960. 329 pp. 

Includes interviews with George P. Adams, Anson Stiles Blake, 
Walter C. Blasdale, Joel H. Hildebrand, Samuel J. Holmes, Alfred L. 
Kroeber, Ivan M. Linforth, George D. Louderback, Agnes Fay Morgan, 
and William Popper. (Bancroft Library use only.) 

Thomas D. Church, Landscape Architect. Two volumes, 1978, 803 pp. 

Volume I: Includes interviews with Theodore Bernardi, Lucy Butler, 
June Meehan Campbell, Louis De Monte, Walter Doty, Donn Emmons, 
Floyd Gerow, Harriet Henderson, Joseph Rowland, Ruth Jaffe, Burton 
Litton, Germane Milano, Miriam Pierce, George Rockrise, Robert 
Royston, Geraldine Knight Scott, Roger Sturtevant , Francis Violich, 
and Harold Watkin. 

Volume II: Includes interviews with Maggie Baylis, Elizabeth 
Roberts Church, Robert Glasner, Grace Hall, Lawrence Halprin, 
Proctor Mellquist, Everitt Miller, Harry Sanders, Lou Schenone, 
Jack Stafford, Goodwin Steinberg, and Jack Wagstaff. 

Interviews with Dentists. (Dental History Project, University of 

California, San Francisco.) 1969, 1114 pp. Includes interviews 
with Dickson Bell, Reuben L. Blake, Willard C. Fleming, George A. 
Hughes, Leland D. Jones, George F. McGee, C. E. Rutledge, William 
B. Ryder, Jr., Herbert J. Samuels, Joseph Sciutto, William S. 
Smith, Harvey Stallard, George E. Steninger, and Abraham W. Ward. 
(Bancroft Library use only.) 


Julia Morgan Architectural History Project. Two volumes, 1976, 621 pp. 
Volume I: The Work of Walter Steilberg and Julia Morgan, and the 
Department of Architecture, UCB, 1904-1954. 

Includes interviews with Walter T. Steilberg, Robert Ratcliff, 
Evelyn Paine Ratcliff, Norman L. Jensen, John E. Wagstaff, George 
C. Hodges, Edward B. Hussey, and Warren Charles Perry. 

Volume II: Julia Morgan, Her Office, and a House. 

Includes interviews with Mary Grace Barren, Kirk 0. Rowlands, Norma 

Wilier, Quintilla Williams, Catherine Freeman Nimitz, Polly 

Lawrence McNaught, Hettie Belle Marcus, Bjarne Dahl, Bjarne Dahl, 

Jr., Morgan North, Dorothy Wormser Coblentz, and Flora d llle 


The Prytaneans: An Oral History of the Prytanean Society and its 
Members. (Order from Prytanean Society.) 
Volume I: 1901-1920, 1970, 307 pp. 
Volume II: 1921-1930, 1977, 313 pp. 
Volume III: 1931-1935, 1990, 343 pp. 

Six Weeks in Spring, 1985: Managing Student Protest at UC Berkeley. 

887 pp. Transcripts of sixteen interviews conducted during July- 
August 1985 documenting events on the UC Berkeley campus in April- 
May 1985 and administration response to student activities 
protesting university policy on investments in South Africa. 
Interviews with: Ira Michael Heyman, chancellor; Watson Laetsch, 
vice chancellor; Roderic Park, vice chancellor; Ronald Wright, vice 
chancellor; Richard Hafner, public affairs officer; John Cummins 
and Michael R. Smith, chancellor s staff; Patrick Hayashi and B. 
Thomas Travers, undergraduate affairs; Mary Jacobs, Hal Reynolds, 
and Michelle Woods, student affairs; Derry Bowles, William Foley, 
Joseph Johnson, and Ellen Stetson, campus police. (Bancroft 
Library use only.) 

Robert Gordon Sproul Oral History Project. Two volumes, 1986, 904 pp. 
Includes interviews with thirty-five persons who knew him well: 
Horace M. Albright, Stuart LeRoy Anderson, Katherine Connick 
Bradley, Franklin M. "Dyke" Brown, Ernest H. Burness, Natalie 
Cohen, Paul A. Dodd, May Dornin, Richard E. Erickson, Walter S. 
Frederick, David P. Gardner, Marion Sproul Goodin, Vernon L. 
Goodin, Louis H. Heilbron, Robert S. Johnson, Clark Kerr, Adrian A. 
Kragen, Mary Blumer Lawrence, Stanley E. McCaffrey, Dean McHenry, 
Donald H. McLaughlin, Kendric Morrish, Marion Morrish, William Penn 
Mott, Jr., Herman Phleger, John B. deC. M. Saunders, Carl W. 
Sharsmith, John A. Sproul, Robert Gordon Sproul, Jr., Wallace 
Sterling, Wakefield Taylor, Robert M. Underbill, Eleanor L. Van 
Horn, Garff B. Wilson, and Pete L. Yzaguirre. 


The University of California during the Presidency of David P. Gardner, 
1983-1992. (In process.) 

Interviews with members of the university community and state 
government officials. 

The Women s Faculty Club of the University of California at Berkeley, 
1919-1982. 1983, 312 pp. 

Includes interviews with Josephine Smith, Margaret Murdock, Agnes 
Robb, May Dornin, Josephine Miles, Gudveig Gordon-Britland, 
Elizabeth Sco:t, Marian Diamond, Mary Ann Johnson, Eleanor Van 
Horn, and Katherine Van Valer Williams. 


Broussard, Allen. A California Supreme Court Justice Looks at Law and 
Society, 1969-1996. 1997, 266 pp. 

Ferguson, Lloyd Noel. Increasing Opportunities in Chemistry, 1936-1986. 
1992, 74 pp. 

Gordon, Walter A. Athlete, Officer in Law Enforcement and 

Administration, Governor of the Virgin Islands. Two volumes, 1980, 
621 pp. 

Jackson, Ida. Overcoming Barriers in Education. 1990, 80 pp. 

Patterson, Charles. Working for Civic Unity in Government, Business, 
and Philanthropy. 1994, 220 pp. 

Pittman, Tarea Hall. NAACP Official and Civil Rights Worker. 1974, 
159 pp. 

Poston, Marvin. Making Opportunities in Vision Care. 1989, 90 pp. 

Rice, Emmett J. Education of an Economist: From Fulbright Scholar to 
the Federal Reserve Board, 1951-1979. 1991, 92 pp. 

Rumford, William Byron. Legislator for Fair Employment, Fair Housing, 
and Public Health. 1973, 152 pp. 

Williams, Archie. The Joy of Flying: Olympic Gold, Air Force Colonel, 
and Teacher. 1993, 85 pp. 

Wilson, Lionel. Attorney, Judge, Oakland Mayor. 1992, 104 pp. 



Bennett, Mary Woods (class of 1931). A Career in Higher Education: 
Mills College 1935-1974. 1987, 278 pp. 

Bridges, Robert L. (class of 1930). Sixty Fears of Legal Advice to 
International Construction Firms; Thelen, Marrin, Johnson and 
Bridges, 1933-1997, 1998, 134 pp. 

Browne, Alan K. (class of 1931). "Mr. Municipal Bond": Bond Investment 
Management, Bank of America, 1929-1971. 1990, 325 pp. 

Coliver, Edith (class of 1943). (In process.) Foreign aid specialist. 

Dettner, Anne Degruchy Low-Beer (class of 1926). A Woman s Place in 
Science and Public Affairs, 1932-1973. 1996, 260 pp. 

Devlin, Marion (class of 1931). Women s News Editor: Vallejo Times- 
Herald, 1931-1978. 1991, 157 pp. 

Hassard, H. Howard (class of 1931). The California Medical Association, 
Medical Insurance, and the Law, 1935-1992. 1993, 228 pp. 

Hedgpeth, Joel (class of 1931). Marine Biologist and Environmentalist: 
Pycnogonids, Progress, and Preserving Bays, Salmon, and Other 
Living Things. 1996, 319 pp. 

Heilbron, Louis (class of 1928). Most of a Century: Law and Public 
Service, 1930s to 1990s. 1995, 397 pp. 

Kay, Harold (class of 1931). A Berkeley Boy s Service to the Medical 
Community of Alameda County, 1935-1994. 1994, 104 pp. 

Kragen, Adrian A. (class of 1931). A Law Professor s Career: Teaching, 
Private Practice, and Legislative Representative, 1934 to 1989. 
1991, 333 pp. 

Peterson, Rudolph (class of 1925). A Career in International Banking 
with the Bank of America, 1936-1970, and the United Nations 
Development Program, 1971-1975. 1994, 408 pp. 

Stripp, Fred S. Jr. (class of 1932). l/niversity Debate Coach, Berkeley 
Civic Leader, and Pastor. 1990, 75 pp. 

Trefethen, Eugene (class of 1930). Kaiser Industries, Trefethen 

Vineyards, the University of California, and Mills College, 1926- 
1997. 1997, 189 pp. 



Griffiths, Farnham P. (class of 1906). The University of California and 
the California Bar. 1954, 46 pp. 

Ogg, Robert Danforth (class of 1941). Business and Pleasure: 

Electronics, Anchors, and the University of California. 1989, 
157 pp. 

Olney, Mary McLean (class of 1895). Oakland, Berkeley, and the 
University of California, 1880-1895. 1963, 173 pp. 

Selvin, Herman F. (class of 1924). The University of California and 
California Law and Lawyers, 1920-1978. 1979, 217 pp. 

Shurtleff, Roy L. (class of 1912). The University s Class of 1912, 

Investment Banking, and the Shurtleff Family History. 1982, 69 pp. 

Stewart, Jessie Harris (class of 1914). Memories of Girlhood and the 
University. 1978, 70 pp. 

Witter, Jean C. (class of 1916). The University, the Community, and the 
Lifeblood of Business. 1968, 109 pp. 


Almy, Millie. Reflections of Early Childhood Education: 1934-1994. 
1997, 89 pp. 

Cal Band Oral History Project. An ongoing series of interviews with Cal 
Band members and supporters of Cal spirit groups. (University 
Archives, Bancroft Library use only.) 

Crooks, Afton E. On Balance, One Woman s Life and View of University of 
California Management, 1954-1990: An Oral History Memoir of the 
Life of Afton E. Crooks. 1994, 211 pp. 

Weaver, Harold F. Harold F. Weaver, California Astronomer. 1993, 
165 pp. 


B.A., and M.A., in History, University of 
California, Berkeley. 

Postgraduate studies, University of 
California, Berkeley, American history and 

Chairman, Sierra Club History Committee, 1978-1986; 
oral history coordinator, 1974-present ; Chairman, 
Sierra Club Library Committee, 1993-present. 

Interviewer/Editor, Regional Oral History 
Office, in the fields of natural resources 
and the environment, university history, 
California political history, 1976-present . 

Principal Editor, assistant office head, Regional 
Oral History Office, 1994-present. 

99 OOR